


Lionheart

by FlashySyren



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Ladies, BAMF Sif, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Sif Centric, in case it's not clear, post TDW, this is a Sif fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashySyren/pseuds/FlashySyren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War is coming, and with Asgard a disaster, ruled by an Odin that no longer seems himself, and Thor abdicated for Midgard, Sif realizes that her warning goes unheeded, prompting her to leave her realm. It's not just the Realm Eternal in danger but all of Yggdrasil. Yet nothing ever comes easily, and as she builds her numbers and prepares her army for what is to come, another realm needs no incoming battle to destroy them. Helping them will gain her another ally for the inevitable future, but force her to choose between the realm of her birth and a people she had once thought monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some things to keep in mind for this fic:  
> Jötnar are not quite as depicted in MCU. For my purposes, Jötnar are not as tall as in MCU, measuring between seven and eight feet tall.  
> The Æsir are gods, not just aliens. Again, I prefer comic canon for this one. I reject their 5,000 year life span, but will allow that their long lives make it hard for them to conceptualize time the way we short-lived humans do.  
> Also in the comics, Sif was given a sword that allowed her to travel between the realms. She has that sword in this story, but I've tweaked the way she received it.  
> A good portion of this story takes place away from Asgard, Sif believes that Loki is dead, and Odin is losing his mind. Thor is on Midgard doing whatever he does with Jane and the Avengers. Taking place appx. 18 months after The Dark World.  
> Because the beginning of this story is set away from Asgard, there will be OCs.
> 
> Speaking of OCs, I need to mention that Ardunn, who will appear in Chapter 2, is an original character that belongs entirely to [Ebonrune](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebonrune), I only hope to do him justice in this story. Most of my headcanons can be blamed on her as well, as most were born of our fangirling on Skype.
> 
> This fic is Sif centric, other Thor characters will appear, but not until the plot gets around to bringing Asgard into the story. Which it will. Asgard is a pretty important part of things.  
> As always, my work is unbeta'd though I do try and find as many mistakes as possible before publishing, I apologize for those I've missed.  
> And, of course, I own nothing.

The sounds of construction echoed across the encampment as Sif sat bent over her desk, eyeing the maps laid out before her. She shook her head. “No. I won’t do it.”

Gray eyes, set deep under a heavy brow, widened in disbelief even as the hard press of his lips displayed his anger.

Leaning back in her chair, Sif regarded him with boredom. “Numbers do not make a successful strategy, Gridr. I will not give you any of men, for _any_ price, to be arrow fodder in this,” she waved her hand at the papers, “ _disaster_ of a plan. You have no idea what it takes to bring down a stronghold.”

He stood, a mass of solid muscle, covered in thick gray skin, flushed to a sickly greenish color in his anger. “What would _you_ know of strategy? Being Thor’s pet har—“

Sif sprang over the desk as he stumbled back away from her, tripping over the chair in the process, and sprawling backward onto the floor. His hand reached for his weapon, but was unable to draw it as Sif’s boot landed hard on his arm, pinning it against the floor, and her blade pressed, unforgiving, to his throat. Green blood welled where the edge opened his skin, and she bared her teeth at him.

“I am no one’s _pet_!” How many times had she been called as much? And how many more times had it been thought? She swore to herself, upon the Norns’ weavings, that the next person to call her pet would lose his tongue. “You will find no reinforcements here, get out of my sight, and should you ever think to shadow my door again, I will kill you.”

The scuffle had drawn the attention of Sif’s lieutenant who pulled the tent flap aside to peer at them. Light spilled across Gridr’s prone form as he held it open and stepped inside, looking amused.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Einarr, and escort him out of here.” She wiped sticky blood from her sword on his leathers and stepped back as Einarr stepped forward.

Long, white-blond hair fell over his shoulders, a stark contrast to his dark skin, as he bent, but it stayed out of his face, the top part pulled back in intricate braids. Gridr growled something as he was helped to his feet, though Sif paid no attention, turning back to her desk as both men left the tent. The maps and diagrams, that had earlier covered her desk, had been spread across the dirt floor of the tent, and Sif moved to pick them up, dumping them back onto the desk in disgust before returning to her chair.

They had needed this job. A regular income was essential to their existence, but, while the money was desperately needed, it was also Sif’s responsibility to keep her men’s best interests in mind. Granted, she had lost her temper, and perhaps if she had approached the situation a bit more diplomatically….

Sif groaned, leaning back in her chair and covering her face with an armor-clad arm. She must have drifted off to sleep then, as she was startled awake a little later by Einarr coming back from his task of getting rid of Gridr.

He was a tall man as most Ljósálfar were, lithe and fine featured, his mixed heritage seen only in the sepia tone of his skin. The proof of his violent profession in the scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and sliced across his left cheek, mangling his ear. It marred his features, but detracted nothing from his formidable presence. He never spoke of how he’d received it, and Sif didn’t ask. She was familiar enough with injury to know that some were trumpeted in victory, and others were held close, a lesson learned, but scars very often wrote themselves upon the mind as deeply as the flesh.

“You do no one any good this exhausted, my Lady.”

A lazy hand gesture as she straightened in her chair. “I will get more rest after the delegation has ended and a decision has been made over our presence here.” Alfar politics were a twisted and slippery thing. Where the owner of the land, Erudessa, a highborn lady of the court, had long hosted a mercenary army upon her family properties, it had been decided by a nearby lord that the army had grown too large to be considered personal protection.

This, of course, was Sif’s fault, as she had begun inflating their numbers almost immediately after she’d taken over a year ago. When she had, it had been done with the assurance that the property could and would continue to house them.

Einarr looked unconvinced, but let that particular subject go. For now. “We gain candidates daily, but even if we’re being particular in who we accept, two thirds of them are untried, _unblooded._ They need experience before they can be expected to fill ranks appropriately.”

“I am aware.” She said dryly. “But I will not sacrifice most so that a lucky few can gain experience. No matter how badly we need the revenue.” Her hand swept over the mess of papers on the desk, a plan doomed to fail. “They are people, thus not disposable.”

He nodded, and moved to right the chair Gridr had knocked over, sitting in it himself. He clasped his fingers together, pursing his lips. “You are a good General, a caring commander, Lady Sif, but it’s been eight months since you killed Freki. You need to choose a new second, you cannot keep doing everything on your own.”

“I offered the position to you, and you turned it down.” Sif pointed out, lip curling as she recalled her anger at the previous commander of her—much smaller at the time—army.

“I am not nearly diplomatic enough for such a position.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, I would rather not end up with your dagger stuck between my ribs.”

Sif shrugged. “Don’t try and arrange my death from within my own ranks, and you will not face Freki’s fate.”

“I make a far better weapons master than I ever would a commander, and you know it.”

“Unfortunately, no one else is suited to the role either, thus I have no choice but to continue doing everything on my own.”

Sif knew Einarr did not agree, but wasn’t in the mood to argue, so ignored the expression that crossed his face. To his credit, he kept his disagreement to himself as well.

“We’re testing a new group this afternoon. Will you be present?”

“Unless Erudessa returns before then, I will be.”

He rose gracefully to his feet, saluting with a quick fist to his chest, and Sif dismissed him with a nod. Waiting until the tent flap closed with a heavy slap behind him to rake her fingers into her hair. She’d begun this venture with no illusion that it would be easy, but even expecting it to be difficult hadn’t prepared her for the constant problems that plagued the effort.

She combed her fingers through her hair, tugging at the tangles impatiently until it was relatively tamed, then went to work twisting the ebony strands into a braid. Bending over the desk, she gathered the plans that Gridr had left behind and stuffed them into an over-packed drawer of other such failed proposals. Sif leaned back against the chair again, kicking her feet up onto the desktop.

When first the desk had been delivered to her tent, she had admired the workmanship. It was, as most Alfar wares were, of talented craftsmanship. Built of blonde wood, it had been delicately carved, the inlays stained a darker color. Every surface was perfectly smooth, the edges carefully beveled, and the finished product was both functional, with its large drawers and large workspace, and beautiful. Too much time sitting at it, however, had made her hate it. Everything about it from the stark incongruity between the desk and the weathered tent that housed it, to the sound of the drawers when opened or shut, and the way it always felt cool against her arms despite the heat of the day.

There was no question that it wasn’t really the desk that stoked her ire, but Sif had no wish to look too closely at the reasons an inanimate object could bring out such a feeling in her. It wasn’t just the desk, but a restlessness, the rush of adrenaline that neither dissipated completely nor had a way to be expended. Everything was wrong, Yggdrasil herself no longer felt right, and it had all started with Thor’s coronation, _failed_ coronation. The world turned upside down, and in this topsy-turvy world Sif was taught her second real lesson in change:

People didn’t have to die for you to lose them. Thor never returned from Midgard. Not really. Nor would he ever. The Thor she’d known so well, the one she’d loved, was gone.

She shifted, leaning over to allow enough room to draw her sword while sitting in the broad wooden chair, it scraped against the scabbard as she pulled it free and set it across her lap. Then leaned the other way to open another drawer and withdrew a polishing cloth to wipe away the remnants of Gridr’s blood.

The etched runes in the blade were smooth under the cloth, posing only the slightest of indentions, and barely visible without any magic running through them. It had been odd at first, switching weapons, but her glaive could no longer serve her as well as this sword, and it now sat amongst a few other weapons next to her bed.

Banebryter, her father had named it, a suitable name as the sword actually was a pathfinder, capable up cutting portals between realms, but after her father had died in battle against the Jötnar the sword was presented to her mother who stored it away. Sif had once asked for the sword, but it had been denied not long before her mother turned her back on Sif for choosing a warrior’s life over that of a courtesan. Sif felt no guilt in stealing it, boxed away and forgotten as it had been, until she dug it out of the storage room of her childhood home. It was hers by right, or would have been had she been born male.

It took only a few moments for her to rub the blade clean, and she leaned her head back against the high-backed chair, eyes feeling heavy again, but instead of giving in to the pull of sleep, she dropped her feet to the floor and returned the cloth to its place. There was too much to be done to allow for such idleness.

Her leathers, supple as they were, did not creak as she moved to stand, and sheathing her weapon back at her hip, Sif left the dark and relatively cool interior of her tent for the too bright, too warm summer day. Having always loved the heat, she barely noticed the way her leathers—dyed a deep chestnet even before regular care and cleaning had darkened them further—soaked up the rays of the yellow sun as it hung high above the encampment.

When she was young even the coldest of Asgard’s winters barely bothered her, wrapped up in layers and running out into the snow as children were wont to do. The enchantment she’d once felt, looking out over glittering powder, had faded over time, however, as the combination of events littering her history made her hate the cold as much as she did the desk in her tent. Despite the heat of the day, Sif knew it was temporary, often feeling as if that she’d never be truly warm again. Knowing that, as the sun fell, the heat in her bones would leech away in the waning light.

Perhaps her funeral pyre would banish the stubborn remnants of winters past.

Norns below, her mind was stewing in morbidity. Sif chastised herself and stomped hard on the self-pity she always tried so hard to avoid, focusing instead on the duties at hand. The new longhouse was coming along nicely, the walls nearly finished. Completed it would be large enough to house the men in the worst weather, providing better shelter than the tents and a larger kitchen then that which they were using. Their numbers had grown considerably larger than the small band of mercenary soldiers that had lived here in employ of Erudessa’s estate.

The men at work were too busy to notice her there, and she did not disturb them, satisfied with their progress, and moved on. The carefully tilled fields, dotted with near perfect rows of vegetables in various stages of growth were next, completely empty of workers, their duties had been completed in the morning with nothing ready to harvest. More than likely they were in the training yard now, honing their skills. At least that’s where they _should_ be. Sif demanded a lot of them, but also provided work, a safe place to sleep, and a little bit of revenue paid while under contract to other armies.

It wasn’t much, but to those displaced while the Bifrost was broken, their homes destroyed and families killed by marauders, it gave them a place to go and a purpose. A pretty good percentage of her ranks had arrived for those or similar reasons. She tried not to turn too many away, but there was a desperate need for experienced soldiers, and as much as Sif would like to help everyone who needed it, she simply could not.

War was coming, it could be felt thrumming in her veins. Not the far off thumping of Midgard’s never ending conflicts, or the skirmishes between Nidavellir’s clans. This was big and ugly, and, as unsettling as it was, Sif had no idea which side she was going to fall on. In a world that was _wrong_ , she had no idea if there could be a choice that would be _right_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Jotunheim**

“Madness.” Helblindi growled from his position upon the throne. “A suicide mission, if ever I heard one.”

“You would doubt me? I’ve seen the truth in the stars.” Angrboda drew herself up, black hair falling over her shoulder to hide the lines and marks that indicated her station. “If your twin did not receive your share along with his own seidr, perhaps you could see it as well.”

“Watch your words, Wolf Mother.” The interjection came from the guard at Helblindi’s right. “You may rule the Ironwood, but you stand in the Plains.”

To her credit, Angrboda responded only with an arched eyebrow, and Helblindi raised his hand, silencing the guard. She continued. “Jötunheim is dying, shaking itself apart while our people struggle to eke out their final days. The only way to survive is to have the Casket of Ancient Winters returned to us. We haven’t the resources to march on Asgard and take it ourselves; however, there is an army for hire being built as we speak. If we can get one of our own into their ranks, trusted, we can make the necessary steps to send them after the Casket for us.”

“Which is exactly the problem, isn’t it?” Helblindi rubbed a hand over his face. “You want me to believe that a Jötun would be welcomed into this army? I find that doubtful, but not nearly as hard to believe as the possibility that he would be able to work himself into a position of trust; however, you claim the stars endorse this scheme. Which I have no ability to dispute.” He sighed. “What do you need from me?”

“One of your Ymirjar. We of the Ironwood rely too much on our magics, and the army is led by an Æsir. Your guards are the only ones who maintain the physical fighting level needed.”

“My personal guard. Of course.” Helblindi shook his head. “If this army is led by an Æsir, he’ll slaughter my man before he can even ask for audience. I’ve already said it, but I’ll repeat myself just this once, it’s a suicide mission.”

“Do you think me a fool? I want this venture to be successful. If Jötunheim crumbles, it is not only the plains that will fall. I will glamour your chosen warrior, and get him to Alfheim, but it will not be an easy venture—“

“I volunteer.” The guard who had spoken earlier, interjected and turned toward his King.

“Ardunn?” Helblindi looked over at his friend, confusion clouding his expression.

“I have the most battle experience of my remaining men, and I trust them to do their jobs in my absence. If there is a chance of bringing the Casket home, I would do all in my power to ensure that venture is successful.”

Angrboda clapped her hands, grinning broadly. “Your man here can see the possibility in this opportunity that you refuse to.”

Helblindi turned back to regard her, and for a moment it looked as if he would send her away, but he settled back against the throne. One fisted hand the only indication that he was displeased. “I relieve you of your duty, Ardunn, Son of Askelcarr of Clan Idi.” His eyes bored into Angrboda’s and he seethed at the smirk he could see there. “With or without the Casket, I expect you to return here alive.”

Voice low, Ardunn placed his hand upon Helblindi’s shoulder. “I intend to, my friend.” He promised, and stepped away from the throne to join Angrboda.

**Alfheim**

The trees that edged the clearing filtered the waning sunlight, casting long, dappled shadows over the majority of the training fields, and Sif squinted against the glare created by rays that shone straight through, forcing her to shift her position to view the newest group of prospective warriors as Einarr paired them up.

The staccato approach of hoof beats interrupted his short commands, and was temporarily lost as a gust of wind carried the sound away, bringing with it the scent of stew and bread from the kitchens. She ignored the smell but her stomach growled anyway, reminding her that she had foregone lunch to break up a fight in the stables.

Sif stepped away from the training field as the rider rapidly closed the distance. Einarr glanced their way, but paused only a moment before calling the recruits’ attention back to him to proceed.

One rider, two horses. Sif recognized him immediately, his small stature, and her own stallion cantering alongside the bay he rode, gave him away. Erudessa’s messenger. _Rondall, Randall? Ronil, perhaps? Yes, that sounded right._

“Erudessa requests your presence, my Lady.” The boy addressed her with far more polish than the last time she’d spoken to him.

Good, she was finally back. Sif was beginning to get restless, waiting for news. She took Stjörnu’s offered reins, and patted the big chestnut’s neck. It was an unimaginative name, obviously given for the large star that covered his broad face, but she had yet to rename him, and now it was doubtful that she ever would. She swung up into the saddle and nodded at Ronil and with just a shift of her weight, Stjörnu stepped into a canter, stride gradually lengthening until they were covering the ground at a nice in-hand gallop. He was a good mount, she had to admit.

Their ride took them on a well-beaten path that wound between trees, and over a sloping rise the footing sure enough that they were able to keep to a decent clip, eating the distance quickly. Sif reined in as she topped the rise, bringing her horse to a walk to allow him to cool down a little; though he wasn’t ready to slow and spent the next several strides, chomping at the bit and dancing sideways. He settled with a heavy sigh and she leaned forward to scratch his neck.

As they neared the stable, the trees grew more densely, their branches twining together closely until they formed the building that housed Erudessa’s horses. Ljósálfar were strongest in natural magics, and as a result, much of their construction was a bending of nature to form what they needed. It was a difficult and time-consuming process, and this barn and the house beyond had been there for many millennia.

After leaving Stjörnu in the safekeeping of Ronil and the stablehands, Sif headed for the main house where Erudessa was waiting inside a kind of courtyard that functioned as her foyer; though neither name seemed appropriate for the odd indoor/outdoor architecture. Sif enjoyed the whimsical nature of it, the way the trees had been changed to create the working surfaces of the home, performing both the job of providing protection from the elements, and decorating the space they created.

Erudessa smiled, stepping aside to admit Sif’s entrance. “I have wine. A beautiful vintage that I intend to partake of, may I pour you a glass as well?”

“No matter how you dress it up, Eru, it’s still that fruity, too sweet, candy fluff that you insist is alcoholic.” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Sure. Pour me extra.”

Erudessa’s musical laugh loosened the knot of tension in Sif’s chest, and she followed her friend deeper into her home. Long strawberry blonde hair trailed down her back, still wavy from the complicated braids it had been twisted into for most the day, and the light blue dress she wore, draped perfectly against her lithe form, just as all Erudessa’s clothes did, making the most of her thin, yet wiry strong body.

She gestured at her sitting room, a collection of delicately crafted furniture, and Sif moved to occupy one overly-fancy creation of dark mahogany, and cushioned by thick pillows covering in rich maroon fabric, while she continued on to the kitchen to collect wine and glasses.

Red would always be her color, though she had toyed with the idea of abandoning it for another, it had been a hard decision when anger had ruled. Anger that was laced with more bitterness than Sif could swallow. All of it had been grounded in hurt, of course, but anger was something she could use, and grief did nothing except wear her down.

The pain was buried. All of it. A temporary solution, she knew, but there was less time now to properly grieve than there had been before she left Asgard. The anger she held close, mined for the future. For the day she would wear carnage the way she wore her crimson cloak. Not dressed to indicate her loyalty to Thor, but armored as she wished to be, as the Commander in Chief of her own force. Dark thoughts perhaps, but it was always a balance with the goddess, the lighter aspects of her personality against the force of war that lit the seidr in her veins.

“Quit scowling, Sif. I come bearing…” She paused, clear blue eyes shifting away as she considered her words. “Well, not good news exactly, but not bad news either.”

Sif’s hand slid against the silky fabric of the chair cushion as she looked up and Erudessa handed her a crystal goblet brimming with wine as dark as blood. Fitting, she decided, her features smoothing. She sipped the saccharine drink, cupping her hands around the etched glass. “Tell me of this news.”

“Always straight down to business. You need to loosen up once in a while.” Erudessa ignored Sif’s expression, settling back in her own chair until she was comfortable, and continued. “I remember when Frigga introduced you to me. This wild girl with a torn dress and twigs in her hair. You should have been so embarrassed to be presented at court that way, but you were defiant, barely even looked at me. Your eyes were locked firmly on the door.”

“You can rest assured that my mother made sure that I was appropriately berated for my behavior.” She remembered that day as well. Sneaking out of court only to be found by an Einherjar later and dragged back by command of the Queen. She hadn’t known what to expect, punishment perhaps, but instead she’d been introduced to some Alfar Lady. It had made no sense to her at the time. Now, however, she knew why Frigga had done it.

Erudessa chuckled, but it wasn’t a particularly amused sound. “I have no doubt. Your mother looked more than displeased when she apologized for your behavior. Yet, for all your disgrace, Frigga took it all in stride.”

“Frigga was always supportive of me.” Besides, she was no more disobedient than Thor and Loki had been. Sif took a much deeper swallow of the wine. They had been at war when the Queen died, sent off among hundreds of other bodies. There had been no time for a formal funeral, a time to celebrate the soul who had left them. Sif’s favorite stories of her Queen still unspoken.

“I know you dislike speaking of Asgard. I bring it up only because you were once well-acquainted with the concept of fun. You’ve lost that somewhere along the way, but what good is this life if you cannot find any joy in it?”

“I find happiness where I can.” Sif blew out a sigh.

Delicate red-gold brows rose, but then she laughed that light tinkling laugh of hers. “Maybe what you need is to get laid.”

Sif snorted, smirking. “I most certainly do, but that is a need that will not be fulfilled at any point in the near future.”

“Not as long as you keep pining anyway.”

“I do not pine.”

“Please, darling, you are a terrible liar.” Erudessa smiled and drained her wine, retrieving the bottle to refill it. “Regardless your state of sexual frustration, I have both good news and less than wonderful news.” She lifted the bottle, offering Sif a refill and she leaned forward to offer her the half-empty goblet for a top-off.

Thankful for the conversation to turn back to business, Sif rested back against the plush cushions with her freshly filled glass. “Stop taunting me, out with it.”

“So impatient.” Her eyes sparkled at the warrior’s exasperation, obviously enjoying herself. “The good news is: The council decided that I hold plenty of lands to support your army, even if it doubles in size.”

“That is good news, but I already know there is a caveat.”

Erudessa nodded. “Indeed. It’s not all bad, this caveat, but you will have a problem with it nonetheless.”

Sif, who had been about to take another sip of her wine, lowered the goblet instead, a crease deepening between her dark brows. “Would you just spit it out already?”

“The council elder is not satisfied with our contract. He wants you to sign something more official stating that you will bring no harm to Alfheim with your arms, and will defend the realm should you be called upon to do so.”

“An easy enough task. What else?”

“He wants to meet with you personally. They are calling court before the autumn celebration and expects you to be there.”

The protest was half formed before Erudessa had even finished speaking. “That’s only a moon cycle away. I have no second, no one to take over my responsibilities.”

“Between Einarr and I, I’m sure we can keep things from falling to pieces. You’ll only be gone a week, Sif. Besides it will be good for you to get away for a little while.” Erudessa’s goblet met her lips again.

Sif looked entirely unimpressed.

“Idhrenor never does anything without an ulterior motive, and his son commands the city’s archers. You need allies, and this one is practically dumping himself into your lap.”

Sif pressed her fingertips into her temple and downed what remained of her wine.

“It’s just politics.”

“I am not drunk enough to swallow that boar shit, Eru.”

Erudessa laughed. “I have more wine? It will be alright, I swear it. There’s plenty of time for me to walk you through the formalities.”

“A lot more wine, I hope. And something resembling food.” Sif pushed her concerns away and shook her empty goblet. “But no more speak of court tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to every one of you who has read this so far. Every kudos, comment, and view means so much to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Though autumn was officially upon the Ljósálfar, the wind which rustled the gold-tinged leaves was warm, easily heard above the guest suite that Sif was settling herself into. It was luxurious in comparison to the tent she lived in, but much smaller than the quarters she had occupied in Asgard. Delicate fixtures of etched glass affixed globes of light to the living wooden surfaces that made up the walls. The downside to having a city buried deep within an ancient forest was that little sunlight penetrated the dense canopy.

The solution was found in phosphorescent mosses that lined the myriad bridges which stretched between the trees, connecting the city together in a confusing maze of walkways, marked by a color system to indicate which parts of the city could be reached by each. Though Erudessa gave her a comprehensive rundown of exactly how to navigate Lyfa Dorei, it was luck alone that kept her from wandering aimlessly for hours. No mere description of this place could have prepared her for what she found when she arrived.

A centuries old memory surfaced, of a hunting trip to the craggy mountains north of the capital city where she and her friends had gone looking for Fell Beasts. They found none of them, despite rumor that they were breeding in greater number. Regardless, it was a good memory, from a time when they, all six of them, had gotten along. Two nights and three days of laughter and teasing, and Loki’s insistence that they avoid the capital city at all costs. The details of his story were lost now, and in realizing that it was so, something twisted in Sif’s chest. With a steadying breath, she stomped the memory down, not caring to think on the mischief Loki had caused while in Lyfa Dorei as a youth.

There would be no court to attend on her first night, just the beginning of the celebration for the turning of the season. There was no requirement for her to be present; however, spending the evening alone with nothing to occupy her time and thoughts, except the never ending list of things that needed to be done at the encampment, was pretty close to the last thing she wanted to deal with. She much preferred to join in the festivities, even if she did so as an outsider.  
Since leaving Asgard, leathers and armor had been her entire wardrobe. Not that it bothered her to wear them, she’d long ago gotten used to how they sat on her body, and the discomfort had faded into familiarity, but it felt good to don more comfortable clothing once in a while, to just be Sif outside the expectations and responsibilities she saddled herself with.

Most of what she packed was to be worn beneath those things, protecting her skin from chafing against leather and metal, the carefully tailored armor she had designed herself to be easy to move in, and relatively protected, but also be blatantly female. She’d worked too hard to become the first woman welcomed into Asgard’s ranks to let anyone forget that she was both a warrior and a woman. However she had brought tunics and breeches for downtime, and it was those she sought when she came across something she did _not_ pack for herself; it made her smile nonetheless. It was light purple, not a color she was normally drawn to, but the fabric was light, flowing over her fingers like water as she withdrew the gown.

Getting dressed took much less time than getting herself cleaned up after her journey, the delay partially blamed on just how good it felt to soak in the bath with nothing pressing for her to get to. Unsurprisingly, Erudessa had made a good guess of Sif’s size and the dress fit well, a touch too roomy in the hips, but it still lay nicely against her skin, and there was plenty of room beneath the drapey material to strap a dagger to her thigh.

Night had fallen, but finding the celebration was easy enough as she could hear the sounds of revelry as soon as she stepped outside. Down below the crisscrossing walkways, a large, manicured clearing was filled with milling people. Figuring out how to get down to ground level from where she stood was the challenge, yet Sif only got herself turned around once before finding a staircase that twisted itself around the giant trunk of the tree that housed her room.  
A tree stump, larger even than the trunk of the tree she had just descended, sat in the center of the clearing, obviously meant to signify something as it was covered in cut flowers and burning candles. Sif waded into the crowd, not exactly inconspicuous, but in the flickering light provided by the glowing orbs, hovering above them, she almost could be.

Many of the celebration’s patrons held glasses of whatever alcohol was being served, and while she did, briefly, consider getting one for herself, she really wasn’t a fan of Alfar drinks—what she wouldn’t give for a full tankard of mead—and Sif rarely drank alone. Judging by a few of the looks thrown her way, she didn’t _have_ to be alone. Looks that reminded her of Erudessa’s assertion that she really did need to get laid, and just as she had before, she whole-heartedly agreed. Unfortunately, while she certainly wasn’t unfamiliar with finding a partner for sex alone, that wasn’t what she most wanted, and would likely only make things worse for her if she gave into the urge to seek that kind of attention.

It was an old craving, the desire for something she wasn’t sure she was destined for, one used to being ignored. So aside from standing between her and a little bit of physical recreation on this night, it was little more than a twinge, more easily boxed up than most the things she buried.

Her hips swayed to the melody of a nearby lyre player as she picked her way through the throng to the food table. She let the music carry her away a bit, enjoying the vibration of sound, the song unfamiliar but easy to follow, and soon she was humming.

The table was laid out with more types of fruits and vegetables than she was willing to count, arranged around a roast beast of some sort, a hart perhaps, but the way it had been butchered for cooking and serving, made it difficult to identify. She took a plate and filled it with a wide variety of food, then moved away from the table.

Sif found a quiet place to sit, where she could watch the activity around her; the dancers and minstrels, both the murmured sound of nearby conversation, and the loud boom of a nearby bard, singing of Alfheim’s greatest deeds. Their celebration was much less raucous than any they had in Asgard, but she found herself enjoying it nonetheless, joining in with the dancers for a while, something she normally would not have done, before settling in to listen when the musicians began to gather together, creating entirely new works as they found inspiration in each other.

Only as the crowd began to thin, did she let the tug of sleep carry her back toward her assigned room. The soft shoes she wore made little noise on the wooden stairway, drowned out by the fading sounds of the celebration. She hummed a bit as she climbed, tired but happy.

“Here I was, expecting a great warrior, dedicated to her task, building a great army.” The gruff voice came from off to her right as she reached the top of the stairs, stepping onto the platform. The Allspeak did a good job of translating different languages for her, but he spoke the Vanir tongue, or rather, he attempted to speak in the Vanir tongue, a language she, herself, was fluent in.

“You speak out of turn, deceiver.” Sif paused to look at him, tilting her head in the dim light provided as a courtesy to keep people from stumbling around the walkways in the dark. It wasn’t enough to get a good look at him, but, at least at first glance, he could pass for Vanir, cousin race to the Æsir.

He snorted. “You think my disappointment to be false?”

“I think your disappointment is steeped in ignorance, it’s your façade which is false. Though I cannot imagine why you would try and convince me that you are Vanir.” She stepped past him, moving so that she could watch him as she did. “Regardless, I have nothing to prove to you, and no interest in trying to divine your purpose.”

His boots scuffed against the wood as he moved, looking as if he might reach for her as she moved past, but as she looked at him sharply, hazel eyes reflecting the green glow of the moss covered railing, he withdrew his hand, thinking better of it. “I am here to bring you a warning, and offer my assistance.”

“You still speak a language that is not yours, and expect me to trust anything you say.” Sif scoffed, but turned back to face him fully.

“Distrust is better than being attacked for the realm I hail from.” He shrugged, taking a step closer. “My home boasts a prophetess. She has seen the approach of something that would see the end of Yggdrasil should they be allowed to invade.”

Sif pursed her lips, regarding him a little more carefully. He was dressed in leathers, a sword at his hip, and this close she could see just how tall he was, a storm giant perhaps? Still, there was something vaguely familiar about him, the angle of his jaw? It really was too dark to say for sure. “You tell me nothing I don’t already know. I need more. Who leads this force? What draws them here?”

“She did not divulge those details, but promises that she will tell them to you.”

This was feeling too much like a game, and she barely refrained from rubbing her temples. “At what cost.”

Music swelled from the field below, filling the silence before, finally, he responded. “An important relic.”

She was too tired for this. “Your name?”

He looked taken aback, obviously expecting a completely different question, but it was only a momentary lapse. “Ardunn…” The way he trailed off she thought he would give her his patronymic, but he did not.

“Alright, _Ardunn_. I haven’t the patience to tease information out of you tonight. I am expected in court in the morning, but you will be able to find me here after the midday meal.”

The shadows almost hid his irritation, but she caught the tension around his mouth.

“Know this, also. I do not suffer fools, nor do I find any amusement in being used like a token on a game board. You will not like the consequences if this is what you do.”

“Believe me,” Ardunn growled. “I would not be here if it was not necessary, _Æsir_.” He spat the word like a curse, and Sif’s mouth twitched, both amused and annoyed in equal measure.

“Finally. Some actual honesty.” Sif took a step back, widening the distance between them, unwilling to turn her back on him where he could so easily attack, and when she did turn, she still angled her body toward him. That had been a lesson learned at a young age, one she had taken to heart. A twist of her hand, a mix between a gesture of farewell and a dismissal. “Until tomorrow, Ardunn.”

If he said anything after that, she did not hear him, nor did he follow, and within a few steps the walkway took her out of sight, bending around the trunk of the tree where the door to her room was located.

She didn’t wonder how he had found her there, he claimed to be following the instruction of a prophetess. She would not second guess that. Not after knowing Frigga.

_No one thing is ever only one thing_. The Queen had once told her, a confusing tangle of words that had made no sense to her as a youth when she’d heard them. They meant something to her now, a lot of things, a statement that Sif held close.

No, Sif didn’t wonder how he found her, the threads of the Norns were weaving themselves together, war a battle drum, thrumming, alive in the seidr that filled her veins, and getting louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Court was every bit as boring as Sif remembered it from her youth, but here it was even more tedious with the added traditions of the Ljósálfar, for which there were many. An added forum of debate, even when it seemed there was more than majority approval, and a lot of unnecessary address of a polite nature. It was almost comical at times to watch the council members disagree with the addition of polite apology when it was obvious that the words tasted like ash. Overall she missed the blunt back and forth found in all of Asgard’s forums. This was far more suited to Loki’s particular brand of backhanded negotiation.

Despite being scheduled for only the morning, it might as well have been a lifetime while Sif sat in the hard upright benches provided to visitors while court was conducted by the four men and two women, whose names Sif had been told, but had been replaced by more pertinent information, like how to address them without insult. It was unlikely she would be able to figure which name belonged to which member of the council as they all seemed to possess features similar enough to be siblings, and by the time they finally wound their way through the itinerary, she wondered if they weren’t all closely related in some way.

“Lady Sif.” The Council Elder, Idhrenor—the one she could identify, as it was on his behest that she sat there now—spoke to her. He crossed his arms over the polished tabletop, white robes reflecting off the dark wood. One forearm raising to gesture at her to approach. “Erudessa Woodborn speaks well of you.”

“She speaks highly of you and your council as well, Grand Elder.” Sif replied, following Erudessa’s script as she rose to her feet, armor clanking.

Idhrenor smiled—smugly, Sif thought—and one of the females leaned over to whisper something to the male to her left. “We have taken the liberty of writing up the contract.” He said, looking down to retrieve the parchment before looking back up at her through white eyelashes as he straightened, handing it to her. “A formality really, nearly identical to what you already had with Lady Woodborn.”

The ‘nearly identical’ was not lost on Sif as she approached. She took the parchment and unrolled it, determined to read it over carefully for those changes. A taller man off to the elder’s right shifted in his seat, and she paused in her reading for a moment to watch him from the corner of her eye, the corner of her mouth turning up at his impatience.

Overall, it was just as Idhrenor said, nearly identical to her agreement with Erudessa, but in the ‘nearly’ there was one very large change. Big enough for her to forget the pleasantries she’d been instructed to use to avoid offense.

“Just how sizeable do you think my force that I can afford to keep 50% at the ready for your beck and call?” Sif returned the parchment to the table, shaking her head. “I can perhaps promise you one-fifth of my men to augment your armies in times of need.”

Had the situation been a little different, Sif would have enjoyed the shock written on the faces who sat before her, and the gasp that rose from the handful of people still sitting on the benches, but while Sif was well aware that she was building an army on foreign soil and needed their forbearance, she was doing it for a purpose that could not be undermined in gaining permission.

Idhrenor frowned, reaching forward for the parchment, voice and expression scolding. “I pardon your rudeness, Lady Sif, only because I have negotiated with Æsir before, but you should keep in mind the realm in which you stand.”

Her jaw flexed, but she knew she had slighted them in her forward rejection of their contract. It still sat poorly to be chastised like a child. “I thank you for the pardon, Elder.” The words were stiff, but everyone seemed to relax after she said them anyway.

“A general covets their arms, I can understand your reluctance to hand over so large a number; however, we need assurance that you are not a threat to us, and a willing ally.” He pursed his thin lips, and tapped the table with a finger. “Promise us a third of your number to join our armies should we need them for any reason, and I will offer you use of our reserve archers should you get tangled up in something you might need a little help with.”

His eyes sought hers and she met his gaze evenly, staring into blue so pale to be flecked with white. She couldn’t help but get the feeling that he knew more than she thought he did. “A generous offer, Elder, but I cannot accept. I will keep one-fifth of my force on Alfheim at all times, available in an emergency, and I will promise to send a second fifth should they be needed, regardless the campaign we fight. Unless we have sustained too many losses to spare the cost. Allow me use of your reserve archers and I will also promise to join you in full available force should there be nothing that calls my command elsewhere.”

Idhrenor looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “You have given us much to consider Lady Warrior of Asgard. The council will debate and bring you our response on the morrow.”  
Alfar did not often salute, preferring to bow to one another. Sif fell into habit, pressing a fist to her chest and bowing slightly at the waist as she would have to her Queen. It surprised her that they would not be debating openly as they had other proposals, but was more than happy to be finished with them for the day anyway. “I thank you for the consideration, Grand Elder.” She looked to each of the council members, thanking them as a whole. “Grand Council.” Then turned to exit the court.

The city was already deep in celebration, people milling about, venders and food stationed outside the government buildings, talking and singing merging together into a dull roar that Sif ignored in favor of the scent of roasted meat which wafted through the air and set her stomach to growling as soon as she stepped outside.

She stopped at the first food table, receiving a large chunk of fresh-baked bread, a bowl of grilled vegetables and a slab of something that had once been an animal. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful, and no time was wasted in finding the stairs down to the field that had held the celebration from the night before.

It was not nearly as packed as it had been, Lyfa Dorei did not close down business for the fortnight in which they celebrated the upcoming harvests and the turning of the season, but there were still plenty of minstrels and bards to mark it for what it was, and young families were together enjoying it all.

The area she had sat in before was on the opposite end of the field, and Sif decided not to walk all the way over there, finding another place much closer, but not quite as quiet. The grass was pleasantly cool, as was the breeze that came in light gusts, proof that summer truly was breaking in favor of autumn.

She dug into her food, eating with the same vigor she always did. Being no connoisseur of cuisine, Sif had never been particular about what she ate. A lucky thing as centuries on various campaigns had taught her that food could occasionally be in short supply, and picky eaters often went hungry. More than once she had choked down protein that none of her companions would touch, but she was far too stubborn to waste her energy or strength because she refused sustenance.

Though none would seek her opinion on the meal, Sif’s happy noises—after taking the first bite of the makeshift sandwich, vegetables and meat stuffed into the bread for ease of eating—were proof enough that she thought it was very good. Two-thirds of the way through the sandwich, a subtle vibration caught her attention. It came up from the ground, growing stronger by the moment, the canopy above trembling, leaves rustling together more strongly as another wind wafted through.

The sounds of revelry quieted as others became aware of what was going on, and in the reduction of noise, another sound rose; one of crunching underbrush, a bellow, a bang, the creak of wood. Overhead, some of the bridges began to wobble as they might in a heavy wind, and from somewhere north of her position came the cries of frightened people.

Lyfa Dorei was housed in ancient forest, giant trees whose thick roots wound under the ground, twisting around each other like lovers. They shared the nutrients in the soil, the sun overhead, and the water beneath the ground, and as the trees had thickened, sucked up the space until there was little room between them. Whatever creature was coming was obviously large, frightened or angry, it was forging a path straight for them.

The remains of Sif’s meal were abandoned as she rose and drew her sword. The celebration had gone eerily silent, everyone frozen in place, listening in horror. Someone seemed to come to their senses as a murmur rose and some of the patrons began moving again. She stepped forward to one young man who had yet to move, and shoved his shoulder gesturing toward the staircase with her blade. “Go! You’ll be safest inside!” She repeated herself, raising her voice so others would hear, and ran past them to the edge of the clearing.

Another bellow announced the near arrival of the animal, all the bridges now wavering. There were still too many people in the clearing which was a problem. The forest was so dense that fighting within in was folly, the clearing was definitely a better choice, but it would be minutes yet before everyone was out. Minutes that Sif didn’t have.

Heavy footfalls sounded above, drawing her attention just long enough to take note that the city’s archers were taking position. That was promising, she only had to keep the beast out of the clearing long enough for everyone to evacuate. With a deep breath, she stepped into the foliage beyond the clearing, stomping, though her footfalls were pathetically quiet in comparison to the noise that was coming from the unseen thing ahead of her. Sif loosed a battle cry, doing her best to be loud enough to catch its attention. Distraction would be her friend in this scenario.

Suddenly, she could see it, barreling between two more tree trunks with the crunch of cracking wood and the scrape of flesh on bark, leaving behind more skin that it couldn’t spare in a smear of crimson, blood flowing at a steady stream. It wasn’t as tall as anticipated, near the 18 hand height of her warhorse, but much wider, set on thick, sturdy legs, a short neck, and blocky head. Bony plates protected its topside, something like a flightless dragon, an oversized lizard, too clunky to have ever grown wings.

The creature’s head swung from side to side, trying to identify surroundings, or searching for something, dark eyes open too wide, displaying bloodshot whites. So, not angry, at least not anymore, it was scared, which was often so much worse.

It caught sight of her, snorting a high pitched, flutey sort of noise, but didn’t stop, barely even slowed, bellowing again. Sif glanced back at the clearing where there were still too many people, the archers on the bridges creating a bottleneck and slowing everyone’s ascent. Thinking quickly, she gauged the distance to the next tree as it stormed past her, and she raced alongside, sheathing her sword as she went, and using the sloped base of the tree’s trunk as a pushing off point to try and spring onto the animal’s back.

“ _Lady Sif_!” She heard her name, but it was too late to second guess herself, though she nearly overshot, and was forced to grab ahold of one of the spines to keep from falling. Scrambling, she drew herself onto the beast’s back. The plates were ridged, but relatively rounded, uncomfortable, sharp enough to cut but not weapon-sharp. Her hand stung where the spine had opened her palm, discomfort that was easily ignored as she reached for the dagger in her boot.  
The creature pitched, protesting her position upon it’s back, and she had to abort drawing the dagger for the moment to hang on.

It bellowed again, but this time there was an answering call, which brought it to a complete stop, trembling beneath her for all of a breath before it was racing off again at twice the speed. Sif wrapped her injured hand around the spine, holding tight as she went for her sword, it was too late to do anything except kill it to keep from trampling people, but when she looked up, she paused, the clearing had be emptied, everyone edging the sides, and in the open field, restrained by strong arms was a much smaller creature. Obviously the big one’s baby. It wailed, a parody of it’s mother’s bellow, and she headed straight for it. The infant was released, and as baby and mother reunited, Sif took the opportunity to jump off. It swiped its tail at her, but was too distracted, huffing at the baby to really aim at her, and she managed to avoid the half-hearted attack easily enough.

A roar of applause rose, and the archers, that had earlier been poised to shoot once the animal breached the clearing, moved off the bridges, descending onto the field where they began to create a barrier to herd the mother and babies back into the forest. Something she was more than willing to leave them to it.

A low chuckle brought a scowl to her brow as she looked up to see Ardunn moving toward her, identified by his extraordinary height. He looked even more familiar now, and something twisted in her chest. She let it fuel her dislike.

“I tried to get you to stop before you jumped onto it.” His low, rumbly voice was filled with amusement. Her annoyance almost prevented her from noticing that he wasn’t speaking Vanir this time. He sobered a bit. “I was afraid you were going to kill her.”

“I would have.” She admitted, feeling remorse, but not regret, then looked up at him suspiciously. “Where did you find the baby?”

“I heard it crying while I was waiting for you.”

Sif frowned. “Alright. Let’s speak.” Lengthening her stride, she led him toward her room. Without pausing, she narrowed her eyes at him, already regretting the decision to talk to him, but offered a warning anyway. “Don’t make me regret this, Jötun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who is supporting me while I write this. I love you all. And a warm hug to my biggest fan who knows who she is.


	5. Chapter 5

As little as Sif wanted anything to do with a Jötun, she had to admit that her curiosity was piqued at least a little bit more than her irritation. Not that she wasn’t suspicious, it was impossible not to wonder where Ardunn’s motives must be grounded, certain that she wouldn’t like any of them.

A flick of her wrist indicated the small seating area which Ardunn side-stepped toward before she pushed the door shut. He obviously didn’t want to turn his back on her any more than she had wanted to the night before, and didn’t blame him for that. He knew that she was aware of where he was from, and Vanir heritage or not, they were enemies of Asgard. A people who undoubtedly had a grudge against her that was nearly as large as the one they bore for Thor.

“You knew you were going to have to tell me where you were from sooner or later.” Very little could annoy her as much as being deceived. That was nothing new, but it had definitely become a bigger peeve after Loki had proven that her worst fears about him barely scratched the surface. Sif kept her eyes on Ardunn as she moved toward the chair, situated straight across the snug space from a two-person couch.

“Of course.” He sounded offended. “But I wasn’t really in the mood to risk an Æsir blade in my gut again. The last one took too long to heal.”

They eyed each other, and by unspoken cue, sat down simultaneously. He looked away, but she continued to stare, unease growing as she saw that familiarity again, realizing _why_ he was familiar. “Drop the illusion.” Sif knew that there were Vanir in the Ironwood, was aware of what had started the war between Asgard and Vanaheim more than two thousand years ago, but she had seen him before.

He spread his hands in supplication, though his eyes told a very different story, betraying his defiance. “It is an illusion, but not mine. I’m stuck with it until I return to Jötunheim with you.”

Sif ground her teeth. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated, I believe I warned you about that.”

“And just _how_ am I manipulating you, Asgardian? By wearing a lineless form? My face is still my own, my skin is all that has changed. You recognize me because we’ve had a meeting of a sort before.” He leaned toward her, baring his teeth. “When my cousin fell to your blade, you looked straight at me, and if I wasn’t responsible for protecting my Prince, I would have ripped your throat out.”

It wasn't just his resemblance to a Jötun she met in battle, but how much he looked like someone else. That, however, was not a subject she was going to go into with him. A sneer pulled at her lips. “You would have _tried_ , but you had your Prince to protect, and I had mine.” The atmosphere in the room thickened with animosity making Sif’s fingers ache to feel the grip of her sword.

“Do not compare your treacherous Prince to my King. Helblindi stands by his people, his friends, his _duty_.” And just that easily he struck a nerve, a raw one at that, and before she could cover it up, he saw just how deeply he’d driven the knife. Ardunn’s smirk was victorious as he leaned back on the couch. “Asgard has no more Princes. Which is why you are here.”

“Not quite.” Sif ground out between her teeth, the words feeling like gravel. He wasn’t wrong. “What do you know of my purposes?”

“Only what our prophetess has told me: that you think to build an army of your own to protect the realms from an incoming threat, but even at the rate your ranks are growing, you’ll be hopelessly outnumbered.”

“And you wish to trade information about that threat for an important relic.” Sif recalled from their prior interaction. “The Casket of Ancient Winters.” She concluded.

“Your King took it from us believing he could force King Laufey to bend knee to him. We will never bow down to Asgard, but Jötunheim suffers without Ymir’s Breath, and after Asgard’s most recent attack, our world is dying.” Ardunn eyes narrowed at her, and she knew he was trying to gain her measure, but even if she wanted to, she couldn’t give the Casket back to them.

“Loki was responsible for the Bifrost being turned against Jötunheim, and he did it while using the Casket—“

“—He was using the Casket? How—“

“—It doesn’t matter how.” Though Sif knew how, that secret whispered to her the last time Thor confided in her before he shunned her companionship. “Loki is dead, and the Casket fell into the void when the Bifrost was destroyed.” The spark of satisfaction that lit behind Sif’s eyes was entirely vindictive, but Ardunn’s stunned expression earned her a little bit of revenge. Unfortunately, the weight of what that meant came down in the next moment, wiping it all away.

“Have you any idea what will happen to Yggdrasil when Jötunheim dies?”

“If,” Sif snapped, “not when. I am sure there is another solution to be found somewhere, but as you already know, my concerns lie with defending the Great Móðir in the war to come.”

“What good will it be to win a war when Yggdrasil will burn from within!” Frost crawled over the couch fabric where Ardunn’s fingers dug into the cushion.

“What would you have of me?” She forced her voice to a more reasonable level. “I am taxed already, my time absorbed by the army you claim is doomed to fail.”

He glowered. “I would have you be better than your King, better than your abdicated Prince, and think of more than just the people you call your own.”

“You know nothing, and dare accuse me of doing exactly what you are. You care nothing for the threat that comes this way or the fate of Yggdrasil should Jötunheim die. You are here for your people alone.”

“My people are dying, _starving_ because of what _your_ people did to them!”

Sif didn’t know which one of them moved first, but they were both on their feet, her hand wrapped around the grip of her sword. Ardunn hadn’t reached for his, but she hadn’t forgotten what he was, he could make his own weapon as quickly as she could draw hers. She argued on, “Because my people stopped you from invading Midgard!”

“ _We only invaded because we were starving!_ ”

That drew her up short; though her eyes narrowed, unsure whether to believe him, and he took the opportunity to continue:

“We traded with Vanaheim for a _reason_. You call yourselves protectors of the Nine Realms, but none of you cares that our population has dwindled perilously; nor do you care that the Bifrost attack destroyed an entire village of families. Laufey wasn’t always a tyrant, but the assumption that he spoke for all of us was false. Odin left us to die because defeating us wasn’t enough, he wanted to break us.”

In the following silence the wind that rustled through the branches above their heads seemed deafening. Finally, Sif spoke. “What can I do about it? The fact remains that I have a sizeable village’s worth of people who currently depend on me, an incoming war." _And an unacceptably large percentage of my number who have never seen serous battle_. Sif added silently to herself. "Puzzling out a solution for Jötunheim is a distraction I can’t afford, and requires a skill I lack.”

Ardunn growled, dropping back onto the couch. “We needed the Casket of Ancient Winters to heal the damage caused by the Bifrost, and allow us to travel more freely again.”

Sif sighed, but didn’t respond to that, he already knew that the Casket was beyond reach. “I haven’t the space or resources to take in families, but anyone able-bodied and willing to fight under my command are welcome. That probably doesn’t account for enough of the population to do much good, but it’s all I can offer.”

He stared at her, his expression hard to read, but with a twist of his lips that was vaguely disgusted. “I am not sure that anyone would be willing to take orders from an Asgardian.”

“I recall that you offered information and your assistance in exchange for an important relic. Were you not willing to take orders for the appropriate price?”

“You will never know now, will you?” He retorted, and Sif shrugged, covering her annoyance with nonchalance; though her voice betrayed the offense she took.

“You know where the door is.”

The frozen fabric of the couch creaked as Ardunn moved to stand. “My task was to bring you back to the Ironwood to speak to Angrboda. Your inability to provide what we need does not change that order.”

Finally feeling back in control of the conversation, Sif’s stance eased. “If that was a request for me to accompany you, it was poorly worded.”

The way he looked at her, so entirely finished, dying to wash his hands of it all, was so familiar that she could practically feel his frustration, and for one brief moment, she could understand why Loki enjoyed putting her in just that frame of mind. It was satisfying.

“If you would do the courtesy of accompanying me, Lady Sif,” Ardunn drawled, his words dripping with irony, “you would do us both the favor of ending our acquaintance forthwith.”

“Such fancy words, Jötun, but there’s just one little problem. I’m in the middle of negotiations, stuck here at least another day, and then I have that pesky encampment of warriors waiting for my return.” And truth be told, she was already anxious about how long she’d been gone.

Ardunn’s dark eyes fell to the pommel of her weapon. “I’ve been told that your sword can cut a path anywhere, we need not be gone even a day.”

“Fancy and informed.” What little amusement she’d felt had fled. “Except for one little detail. Banebryter can only cut a path to anywhere its wielder can picture within their mind. I have only ever been to the area outside Utgard, and I don’t have the wardrobe to go traipsing around the frozen realm.” She could practically feel the intensity of his gaze on her sword increase, and that was enough to spark her ire. “If you think there is any way that I will let you use my weapon, you had best stop thinking right now lest your hands end up hanging around my neck by a lanyard made of your pretty hair.”

He bared his teeth at her like a feral animal, a retort forming, but he apparently thought better of whatever he was going to say. “If you take us to Utgard, I can get you the proper attire, and from there we can get to the Ironwood.”

“And right into an ambush—“

“—You will have to afford me some level of trust if you want the information Angrboda holds.”

It was true, there was no way to know what his prophetess might tell her, if it was even worth the risk, but to this point she had been going at this blind. That information was valuable, if risky. So how was she going to do this with as much security as possible? Norns, had everything become a negotiation of sorts? When had everything in her life become a juggling act, forcing her to consider the repercussions of every choice? “Like I already said, I have to remain here through the first half of tomorrow; however, to save a little time….”

She walked away from Ardunn, to the bags she had brought with her, tugging one of them open to retrieve a roll of parchment and a pen. He had followed her, but kept a respectful distance while she scratched out a quick message to Einarr. There wasn’t a lot to it, a quick introduction for Ardunn who would be carrying the message, and a request that he dig out her winter wardrobe—inadequate as it was. She requested that he keep an eye on Ardunn and promised to return soon.

Sif didn’t bother to seal it, figuring that her signature would be good enough. She looked up at Ardunn who arched an eyebrow at her. “This message goes to my First Lieutenant. You will seek him out and give it to him as soon as you arrive at my encampment.” Straightening, she offered the message to him. “Just ask the first person you see for Einarr, and they will get you to the right man.”

Ardunn’s fingers closed around the parchment, expression doubtful. “You intend to send me into the middle of your army?”

“Strangers wander in daily, no one will think anything of your presence there.”

He scoffed.

Sif’s lips curved wryly, parroting his earlier declaration. “You will have to afford me some level of trust if you hope to carry out your orders.”

Banebryter sang as it was pulled free of its scabbard. Sif drew on her seidr, bringing the carved runes upon the sword’s blade to life. Turning, she faced a relatively empty bit of floor space, imagining the training yard this time of day where new recruits would be drilling. Einarr would be there unless something important kept him away. The best path would be along the tree line where Ardunn would be safe from any swinging swords, but impossible to miss. There was no way that she was going to allow him to wander around her camp unsupervised.

The sword tugged on her seidr, and she sliced the blade through the air, ignoring Ardunn’s growl, the way he reached for his own weapon, and by the time the swipe terminated, space parted giving a distorted view of grass and tents, men who, one by one, froze in their forms.

Her hand swept toward the opening. “I will meet you tomorrow. You’ll make friends quickly, I’m sure. With your winning personality.”

He hesitated, eyeing her suspiciously. “I don’t like you.”

“Good. I don’t much like you either.”

Sif barely heard his snort as he stepped through, and she went to work sealing the gateway.


	6. Chapter 6

If court had been a long, boring affair the day before, it was twice as tedious with things that Sif deemed more important on her mind. It had taken every bit of her self-control to keep from drumming her fingers while she waited, and to hold her tongue when she was finally called forward. Her offer had been accepted—thank the Norns, as further negotiation would have demanded greater courtesy than she thought she might be capable of presenting—and she signed the drafted contract, taking the time to read it though her mind was already straying afield. Then took her leave as graciously as her distracted thoughts allowed, departing not only the hall, but the city as well.

The rift created by her sword sutured itself closed in a splash of red seidr that matched the dimming runes etched into the weapon’s blade, but Sif ignored the display. Her eyes falling on her desk, laughed softly at the irony of the first thought that slipped through unfiltered. She had missed that desk, and it was ridiculous to believe she could have wanted to see anything so hated as that formidable piece of furniture. A side effect, obviously, of being away from the place she felt she most belonged.

Sif shied away from the dark alleys that awaited her down that path, and turn toward the flap that separated her working spaces from her sleeping area. The slap of canvas followed her into the small space, occupied by a cot, a cabinet for her clothes, and the trunk that had been retrieved from storage. It had been dropped haphazardly at an angle, taking up significant space, both next to and at the foot of the cot.

With a sigh, she tossed her bag onto the end of the cot and stepped around the trunk, perching on the edge of the bed to catch the hinged handle on the side of the chest and dragged it toward her. The lid flipped open silently, and she breathed the spicy, woodsy scent that filled the interior, digging through the garments inside. Long sleeved tunics, lined breeches and thin leggings designed to layer under thinner materials, cloaks of varying weights. Sif snagged a pair of leather gloves.

Plenty warm enough for even the coldest of Alfheim’s winters, but unsuitable for the warmest days of Jötunheim’s summer. Still, it would protect her skin from the freezing air better than what she was wearing.

The cot creaked under her as she sat back bringing the chosen garments with her and dropped them down on the fur that covered her bed. She brushed her fingers over the pelt. It was a sentimental choice to bring it, a gateway to bittersweet memories of a time before being shown the truth of the world, the depths of her naiveté.

Those memories, like the ones locked away in the ironwood box stuffed in the back of the armoire, were not welcome, not now. One day, perhaps, time would put enough distance between who she was and who she would become, and the wounds would scar. Then she would, again, enjoy reminiscing.

Focused strictly upon the task of dressing, her thoughts conjured nothing she would feel the need to banish, and before too long, she was snug under layers of leather and fur, fit carefully under her armor.

The familiar sounds of the encampment greeted her outside the tent, and she basked in it. Conversational murmurs and commands carried on the wind along with the bang of the blacksmith’s hammer and the clang of weapons from the training yard. The smell of the forge, sweat, leather, and roasting meat. Sif was a warrior first, and this was home, more comfortable a fit than her own skin.

A burly man with a swarthy complexion and lion’s mane of grey-streaked hair nodded at her as he passed by with an armload of dented armor. “My Lady.” As one of the men who had been on Erudessa’s lands for decades, his experience was invaluable.

“Ronar.” She greeted in return, but did not interfere with the Lieutenant’s task, continuing on toward Einarr’s tent.

Pushing the flap aside, Sif faltered, standing in the tent opening where she could see Ardunn and Einarr a mere hand’s width apart, looking at each other with such intensity that they were either prepared to fight or kiss. Neither of which was appropriate for the situation and irritation replaced surprise.

Two pairs of eyes turned to her, one smug and the other guilty. Ardunn took a hurried step away from Einarr, and growled at her. “Took you long enough.”

“Lady Sif, we were just discussing you.” Einarr spoke smoothly and Sif scoffed.

“Do not drag me into the middle of,” she waved her hand in a vague motion toward Ardunn, “whatever _this_ is.”

The dark warrior shrugged. “I’m told that you intend to go to Jötunheim.” His pale eyes slid over her attire.

“Obviously.” Her dry tone sharpened. “Anything _important_ to report before I leave?”

Einarr had worked with her for long enough to know the kinds of things that shortened her fuse, long enough to know that she was aware that her temper was unwarranted so he ignored it. “Your shield maidens returned from their test yesterday. Victorious and injury free. The retainer has been paid.”

“How many does Tharbadon want to start?” Sif frowned, suddenly uneasy about sending anyone out from the encampment.

“A half dozen, they have already been chosen by his head of security.” Einarr’s gaze flicked toward Ardunn who was watching him warily.

Her gaze did not follow his. “Fine.” A heavy exhale. “Anything else?”

When he shook his head she finally looked at Ardunn who was again meeting Einarr’s gaze, but there was a distinctly confused quality to his expression, gone as soon as he glanced at her.

“The longer we waste time, the colder it will be when we journey to the Ironwood.” Ardunn grumbled, and moved toward the exit.

“Farewell.” Einarr said lightly. “Should we meet again, I sincerely hope that it is as allies.” Despite the ease in which he spoke, the threat was there, and a part of Sif found satisfaction in that tiny assurance that his loyalty was with her.

She turned to leave as well, and Einarr stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. “Watch yourself. You have no friends in the frozen realm.”

“I know.” Moving to step away, Sif hesitated, looking back at her friend. “Call an exercise. All of this makes me uneasy and if I need to make a call to arms, I would like for it to be done quickly.”

“Consider it done, my lady.”

“And have Erudessa suspend any pending assignments.”

One white-blond brow rose at that. “Erudessa was called away on family business, but I will see that it happens.”

Sif scowled, but there was nothing to be done, nor time to worry about it. She nodded and left, trying to shake the feeling that she was out of time.

The sun was high and bright, and she turned her face into the warm rays as if she could absorb enough of them to banish the icy winds that she was about to step into. A realm of bitter cold and resentful foes. “If this is a trap,” she warned, “you will be the first to die.”

The memory of cracked ice and architecture that looked just as deadly gave her the means to open the portal with her sword, and with a vicious swipe, the fabric of space was rendered.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you when you were unarmed and restricted by that ridiculous dress.” Ardunn retorted and stepped through the gateway. Sif followed.

The ground crunched under her boots, layers of ice topped by a thin layer of dry snow so light that it floated like ash on the wind, stirred by her steps. It was slick, requiring more effort than she would have liked as she needed to stay alert to the dangers that lurked ahead of them.

It was midday there as well, the glow of Jötunheim’s sun set high in the sky, its meager strength dampered by thick clouds, darkening the landscape in evening shadow.

Sif’s gloved hand remained wrapped around Banebryter’s grip, waiting for trouble though none was forthcoming. Forgetting how the Jötnar had practically materialized out of the gloom would be folly.

Ardunn strode across the slippery surface with an ease that fully supported the fact that he wore a skin that wasn’t his. It still bothered her, but there was no point dwelling on that deception. She knew why it had been done, and while she would like to think that it wouldn’t have mattered, knew it was impossible to look at a Jötun and not see an enemy.

“It would be best if you put the weapon away.”

Spinning toward the source of the feminine voice, Sif’s heel slid on the ice. She ground her teeth and shifted her weight to the more supported leg to keep from falling.

“Angrboda.” Ardunn greeted. “I had expected to find you in the Ironwood.”

Hair, nearly as dark as Sif’s own, cascaded down the Jötun woman’s back, curling against the rich blue hue of her skin. “It wasn’t difficult to realize that you would be arriving here.” The melodic quality of her voice softened the edges of the Jötun language. She turned crimson eyes on Sif, looking down from her greater height. “Your sword announces itself to any who knows how to listen to Yggdrasil’s whispers.”

A gust of wind kicked up the snow, sending it swirling about, and Sif sheathed her sword before tugging her cloak tighter around her body, suppressing a shiver that wasn’t entirely related to the weather.

“Come.” Angrboda turned away. “It’s too cold for you out here. Helblindi and his Queen mother await your arrival.”

Utgard lay before them, sharp spires of stone and ice, ancient construction that looked as much ruin as city.

****

**Asgard**

“You cannot stop me. Surely you know this, Gatekeeper.”

Heimdall shifted, turning golden eyes on the cloaked woman beside him. “I do.”

He didn’t need to look out over the swirling nebulae to see the darkness that hovered just beyond Yggdrasil’s roots. Nor would he need to look for Sif. Though he does not focus on her, he watches his sister often. Watches as she follows the path he both admires and fears. He is no seer himself, but as he sees, so too does he learn things he would not otherwise know.

“Then why do you summon me here?”

His hands flexed over the cross guard of his sword. “This path was never meant to be the way.”

“What does that matter now? The Allfather has failed in doing what he must, otherwise it would have never come down to this. Perhaps it is the work of the Norns that forces our hands. Would you question their weavings?”

Heimdall looked at her. He knows who she is, but standing as she does, head covered by a hood, he can make out no features to identify her by. “The Norns are cruel. I question their choices every day.”

“It is better this way.” Her voice had softened, and he exhaled a near-silent sigh. “If you will not trust fate, trust in your Queen.”

“I loved Frigga as much as any other, but she is not here to map the fissures. Prophesy is not static, I would assume you know that to be true.”

“Then trust in your sister. She is much more than a weapon to be wielded.”

“And yet you would treat her like one. Beware the day she turns on you.”

The woman laughed. “Unlike you, I have accepted this fate, and choose to put my confidence in the Lady Sif.”

“Unlike you, I know her fragilities as well as her strengths.” The argument was uncharacteristic, but he was uneasy, teetering upon treason in a way he is uncomfortable with. His oaths were to Asgard first, but he had long served Odin.

The woman snorted delicately. “Bone is made denser by the process of fracture and healing.”

Those words were no real comfort, but he recognized the truth in them with a nod as the worlds beyond beckoned him. He turned his attention back to the light and shadow, the souls as familiar as the observatory in which he stands. He did not watch her leave, but saw her go nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting on toward the end of the first part, where I promise things will pick up. Getting things set up and underway ended up a little more unwieldy than I expected it to be, I have my excuses, but there's really no point in bitching about them. It's my fault for posting chapter by chapter instead of having finished work to post from.  
> Anyway, I love you all for sticking with this.


	7. Chapter 7

It was impossible not to feel uncomfortable walking into the heart of Utgard while flanked by two giants. Uncomfortable, and also small, which was something that Sif wasn’t used to feeling at all. Even among other Æsir, she was above average height for a woman. Here, however, she was no taller than their youths.

A pair of guards flanked the entrance to the throne room, their crimson eyes boring into her, but neither stopped their ingress, and Angrboda marched past them with barely a look, leading them deeper into the room before coming to a stop before the throne. Like Odin’s throne, it was positioned on a dais, but it was not nearly as high as his, raised up only three steps to where another Jötun sat.

“Angrboda.” He rumbled evenly, giving Sif no idea to his relationship with the prophetess that she had been brought here to see.

“Helblindi, King of the Plains, I return to you the Captain of your Ymirjar, and bring Sif, Unsworn Valkyrie, and Commander in Chief of her own force.” The King’s gaze slid right over Sif to rest on the man who flanked her.

The corner of his mouth turned up, pulling his lip away from viciously sharp teeth as Helblindi smirked at him. “You look ridiculous, Ardunn.”

Ardunn snorted. “You needn’t tell me.”

His smile widened, then vanished as he regarded Sif. “I assume, from your presence here, that you have agreed to assist us.”

Sif’s reply was cut off by Ardunn, who bowed, pressing his fist to the center of his chest. “I’m sorry, my King, but I must report that she is unable to provide the price we request; however Angrboda bid me bring her here regardless.”

“Cannot or will not? It makes a difference.”

“Cannot.” Angrboda interjected smoothly.

Sif growled. “I can speak for myself.”

Already annoyed, Sif was made even moreso as she was ignored further, spoken around as if she was not standing there.

“You knew that from the start.” Not a question, an accusation.

Obviously there was tension between Angrboda and Helblindi, but Sif had no patience for their conflict. “As entertaining as it might be to watch you two beat each other bloody, I prefer not standing here any longer than necessary.” They were inside, out of the wind, but the ambient temperature was still much lower than any Sif was comfortable with. Still, she avoided pulling her cloak more snuggly around her shoulders.

Three sets of eyes, two red, and one brown, turned to her when she spoke, and Helblindi growled. “You are welcome to leave.”

Angrboba looked bored. “Do not play the fool, Helblindi. I would not have had her brought here if there was no reason for it.” The Jötun woman wore little to cover her blue skin, but belted around her waist, over the thick hide of whatever animal had provided the material that wrapped around her hips, was a pouch which yielded a small crystal on a leather thong. “I nearly forgot.” She said, offering it to Sif. “Put it around your neck and tuck the crystal against your skin, it will help to regulate your body temperature.”

“I would hear those reasons now.” Helblindi demanded, his attention again turned completely to Angrboda.

Sif took the amulet hesitantly. There was no way for her to know for sure that the crystal was enchanted as the woman had claimed, or if other spells were at work. She stripped off a glove and closed her hand around it, deciding it was safe enough as warmth spread from the center of her palm outward, and slipped it around her neck.

“The Vanir of the Ironwood wear them.” Angrboda assured Sif before looking at Helblindi. “The knowledge of what is to come is not new. We’ve known of it for centuries now, but despite our attempts to prevent its arrival, that which was unseen ensured that it would come anyway.”

Helblindi sighed. “You speak in riddles.”

“The plain truth, King of the Plains, is that there are many things that you are not meant to know. What I can tell you, is that Lady Sif is an ally we need.” Simultaneously, Sif and Helblindi both snorted their disbelief, but Angrboda continued on as if they hadn’t. “We have a common enemy on two fronts, is that not enough to create even a wary alliance?”

“She was one of the Odinson’s followers that came tromping into our realm, who attacked and slaughtered my father’s guard.”

Sif didn’t try to defend herself, she was well aware of what she had been party to. She had warned him, they all had, but Thor was their Prince, and she knew he would have gone with or without her. She had her oaths to consider. Oaths spoken that were no longer worth the breaths she’d taken to make them.

“And yet she fights no more at Thor’s side. No longer at Odin’s command.” The smirk that pulled at Angrboda’s lips, crinkled blue skin at the corner of her eye, was triumphant.

 _Thor no longer believes in war. How does it feel to embody everything he most hates?_ Such an inopportune time for Odin’s voice to rise in her mind.

“Is this true? You have abandoned your realm?” Ardunn’s voice was laced with derision.

“I have not abandoned my realm, but it is true that Thor has… chosen a new path that does not include those who were sworn to his service, and the Allfather can choke on his own blood before I will ever raise my hand in assistance to him, but I will still do everything under my power, to my final breath, to protect my realm.” Her cheeks flushed with the effort to hold her temper, and the shame she tried to keep bottled up.

“Is that an oath, Lady Sif?”

Hazel flicked away from Ardunn’s brown eyes to meet Angrboda’s gaze, and Norns below, she was going to have a crick in her neck by the time she left this realm. “It is.”

Angrboda smiled, a wolf’s smile full of sharp teeth.

A woman scoffed, and they all turned to look at her. Sif shouldn’t have been surprised, she knew that Vanir lived in the Ironwood, there was no reason why they wouldn’t also inhabit other parts of Jötunheim. Eerily familiar green eyes glared at her under a thick mane of black hair. The resemblance between her and Loki was enough to wash away any lingering doubts she had about the trickster’s realm of birth. “As if we would believe a word spoken with your lying Æsir tongue.”

“Mother.” Helblindi rumbled.

“Farbauti.” Angrboda greeted.

Ardunn bowed. “My Queen.”

To say that Sif was aggravated would be an understatement. She made no effort to disguise her disgust. “How fortunate for you, then, that I was just leaving.”

She turned to leave, missing the exchange of looks between Helblindi and his mother.

“Wait.” Sif expected that Angrboda might have tried to stop her, but not Ardunn, and definitely not Helblindi, but it was his voice that bid her stop. She paused, and he continued. “It seems my mother and I have more to discuss, but I ask that you remain here a little longer.”

Her jaw flexed as she fought the urge to tell them all to enjoy a trip to Muspelheim, which she would gladly arrange. Teeth ground, but then she sighed. “I have no idea how far away nightfall is in this place, but I will stay until then.”

“Ardunn. Take the…” _Æsir_. Sif could practically hear it, or maybe he would have said Asgardian, but either way, it was meant more as a negative epithet than anything else. “Take Sif to the Clan’s Room. I will meet you there shortly.”

“Yes, my King.” Ardunn looked at her, jerking his chin toward the doorway before turning to leave, apparently expecting that she would follow.

They didn’t go far. Ardunn turned into another doorway a short distance down the corridor from the throne room. It was not as extravagantly large as the war room was in Asgard, which is what Sif compared it to. Dominated by a large table of dark wood, ironwood, surely. It, like everything else seemed to be, was covered in frost, but the benches that lined the sides were cushioned with thick white furs.

He gestured toward the nearest bench. “You may as well make yourself comfortable.”

Arching an eyebrow, Sif reached for the edge of her cloak, tugging it back around her shoulders, though she realized that she was actually comfortable and didn’t need the additional warmth any longer.

He smirked and she looked away. “What’s wrong shieldmaiden? Don’t like being in a realm full of people who would slaughter you given the chance?”

She ignored his taunting and gestured toward him. “I expected you would be in a bigger hurry to shed that face.”

“It is _my_ face, and as soon as there is time, the illusion of pink skin will be removed.” He scowled, but he was always scowling.

The bench was just high enough that she would not be able to just stand up without sliding off the edge, and as Ardunn had pointed out and Einarr had been sure to remind her, she was no one’s friend here. Sitting would put her at a disadvantage if someone were to decide to come after her. Sif remained standing, looking around the room.

There wasn’t much to see, just ice of varying color, probably of different ages, but then she noticed something she hadn’t before, and squinted, looking more closely. Barely visible under the layers of frost, she could see that at one point, the ice had been decorative.

Delicate swirls, and intricate designs that seemed completely out of place in this harsh realm.

“Excuse us, Ardunn.” Angrboda stepped into the room with them.

“Will you fix that first?” Sif asked, gesturing at Ardunn who grunted.

The Jötun woman’s lips twitched. “Does it make you uneasy, Lady Sif?”

“Do not mock me.” How Angrboda could have known about Haldorr, Sif wasn’t sure, but she didn’t appreciate her attempt to manipulate her through Ardunn’s appearance.

In a shimmer of green seidr, pale skin was replaced by blue, the lines of his family once again becoming visible. Maybe there was a slight resemblance to her long lost lover in his features, but they were not nearly so pronounced as it had been in his Vanir illusion.

“Mocking was not my intention, I meant only to ensure that you would notice him.” She made a shooing motion toward Ardunn, dismissing him. “You made his task easier than I had anticipated.”

The crease between his eyes, now crimson rather than brown, deepened, but he did as he was bid and left the room.

“Shall we get down to more important topics?”

Sif arched an eyebrow in reply, and Angrboda moved to sit, gesturing for her to do the same. The furs were cold but soft under her palms as Sif sat, looking across the table at the other woman expectantly.

“You gather forces in an attempt to protect the realms from a threat unknown. A threat you warned your King about, only to be ignored, scorned even. The penultimate act before you finally chose to leave Asgard. What was it, I wonder, that was the very last you could abide?”

“My reasons are my own.” Sif replied dryly, her fingers curling into the long coat of whatever beast had given up its hide.

Angrboda shrugged, tapping a clawed fingernail on the table top. “What matters is that you have nowhere near enough men to stand against that which comes. A threat whose target is Asgard because the man who rules as King is not as he seems, and his past comes to destroy him.”

That got her attention. “And you have a plan to prevent that from happening?”

Angrboda shook her head. “The war cannot be prevented. You know that. What I can do, is offer assistance when you take control of Asgard. Ensuring that you have the army necessary to fight, preventing your King, and that which they seek from falling into their hands.”

She couldn’t help it. Sif laughed. “You are mad. Attacking Asgard is suicide.”

The other woman merely watched her outburst. “Come now. Are you telling me that a goddess of war can think of no possible strategy to gain control of the realm that knows and trusts her?”

Abruptly, she sobered. “Perhaps, I can, but the fact remains that I cannot attack my own realm. I _will not_.” Sif corrected.

The smile that pulled Angrboda’s lips away from her teeth was feral. “Even if it is not Odin who sits on the throne? For it is not. Asgard is ruled not by the Allfather you have so long served, but the deceitful Prince Loki.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Loki appears, and a wary alliance is struck.

**Asgard**

Loki tapped his index finger to his lips, aware that the gesture would have seemed odd to anyone who might have been watching, but he was surrounded by only the handpicked Einherjar who stood as his personal guard. Handpicked by Odin, and they had gotten used to the differences between the Allfather that had ruled before the loss of his Queen and heirs—one to Midgard and the other to supposed death—and the one who ruled now.

Asgard was rebuilding. The realm’s shields had been the first to be repaired, and construction had followed on the parts of the city that sustained the greatest damage in Malekith’s attack. That was the easy part. More difficult was the replacement the lives lost in the battles for the realms and the subsequent massacre when Kurse had been unleashed from the bowels of the palace. Their force was still formidable, their numbers great, and few could challenge the combined experience of the Realm Eternal’s commanders. Yet it was the necessary introduction of green youths into their ranks that gave him pause.

They were tested rigorously, and put through additional training to ensure that their greatest weaknesses were strengthened. Which was the duty he had set Sif upon when he’d given in to Thor’s request that his friends be released from their prison cells.

Lady Sif, the treasonous wench.

Without Thor there to divert her loyalty, she had served him honorably, performing whatever task he set her to without complaint. Loki had enjoyed her obeisance immensely, but how could he resist the opportunities to hurt her? It was almost too easy.

What was it, he wondered, that had finally pushed her too far? Where had he failed to see that his jabs had gone too deep? Perhaps it was the little game with Lorelei. Just a bit of fun to watch Sif’s stone heart crack.

How was he to know that she was bound to Odin’s house by oath? It could not be considered a failure on Loki’s part if he had no way of knowing such a thing had occurred. Could he really be blamed for not thinking to research such a thing? Regardless, he was facing the consequences now.

The giant doors, gilded in gold like everything else in Asgard, cracked open, the light from the sconces casting shadows over the decorative carvings as it moved, and a lone woman stepped through them. Let none ever claim that Freya was not a striking woman, her fair features were known throughout the nine, just as her animosity for Odin was also public knowledge. Unconsciously, Loki straightened, dropping his hand to the throne’s armrest as the other tightened around Gungnir.

Golden hair, rivaled only by Sif’s before he had taken revenge on her through that singular feature, contrasted with the feather cloak draped over her shoulders. The hem of an indigo gown visible as she walked, silently, to the base of the dais.

“Odin, Son of Bor.” She addressed him, her voice as cool as the look in her clear blue eyes.

“Lady Freya of Folkvangr.” He had gotten used to hearing the Allfather’s voice when he spoke, but never learned to like it.

“You know why I am here, I trust.”

He quirked an eyebrow, peering down at her through his one good eye. “I know well enough, but think, perhaps, I would like for you to spell out the reasons you think to take your issue up with me when it was Lady Sif who left of her own volition.”

Freya laughed. “Lady Sif’s tie to this realm died with Frigga with whom the deal was struck. My concern is not with her decision to leave, but in your failure to heed her warnings, and the promise you made to me when I chose to stay her obligation to my sisterhood.”

 _What promises might Odin have made to Freya? Surely something to his benefit, for he only did anything to benefit his station._ A sick feeling coiled in his gut.

“Her warnings did not fall on deaf ears.” He assured her, thinking quickly to address her without giving away his ignorance in the matter of discussion. “I know well of the threat that approaches. As do I know that which they seek and why.”

Gungnir felt insecure in his sweat-slicked hand as a smile, far too wicked for her beautiful face curved Freya’s lips. “Wonderful, then you fully understand that you failed completely. This was the very thing we hoped to avoid when our bargains were negotiated. You would raise two heirs capable of stepping into your place when the burdens of ruling became too great. Ensuring that at least one stood by ready, and you now sit here with none. Casualties of your failed efforts.”

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but for once, he was speechless. His mind whirred uselessly, trying to wrap itself around what he’d just heard. It was important. Which was why it was so frustrating that he couldn’t make the connections he knew were there.

Impossibly, Freya’s smile _widened_. “And yet, let none say that I am not lenient. I have every right to consider our agreement null, but I will give you a fortnight to find a solution. Someone to rule Asgard in your stead. Ready to step in once this threat you know so much about is defeated. After all, it would be a shame if Odin Allfather lost his life less honorably than his Queen had. What better way than as a general on the battlefield, defending his realm one last time.”

Fingers, previously splayed over the arm of the throne, closed into a fist. “And if I refuse?”

Her eyes lit up with smug satisfaction. “Then I am no longer prohibited from raising arms against Asgard.”

**Jötunheim**

“Loki is dead.” Sif's fingers curled more tightly into the thick furs she sat upon. 

“What reason would I have to lie? With the Casket lost to us, we need him.”

At Sif’s dubious expression, Angrboda continued:

“His strength in seidr can be used to assist in repairing the damage done by the Bifrost. Can you think of a better way for him to pay the debt for this crime?”

“You assume much in believing that he will help you.” _Also that I will not kill him first._

“Angrboda can be very persuasive.”

Both women turned to look at Helblindi, and true to form, his attention was on Angrboda despite his statement being in response to Sif’s own.

“Indeed. Persuasion is a tool like any other.”

“You will have to excuse us, Wolf Mother. I would prefer to speak with the Asgardian without you breathing down my neck.” Helblindi said mildly.

Angrboda leaned over the table, an array of carnivore teeth, strung on a leather thong around the woman’s neck clicked together as she did, temporarily drawing Sif’s attention. “I rule the Ironwood as the Wolf Clan Chief. There are a hundred shamans prepared to stand behind your men. None are trained in hand to hand combat, but each is an accomplished hunter, and capable of casting illusions. I’m sure that you can find use for them should you decide that you can stay your hand and spare Loki’s life, handing him over to us in exchange.”

Then she pushed to her feet, and gestured to her seat giving Helblindi a pointed look before she made to exit, and spoke over her shoulder. “I have other duties to attend to. Helblindi will tell me what you decide.” She paused at the doorway, looking back, regarding them each in turn, amusement in the curve of her mouth. “You two play nice.”

Helblindi grumbled something, the vibration rumbling audibly, but it was too low to hear the words. He sat, and when Angrboda disappeared into the hallway, finally turned his attention to her. Scrutinized her through slashes of crimson.

“If you are waiting for me to turn into a lindworm and tear you to shreds, I’m afraid that only happens during the harvest moon.”

It was intensely satisfying to see the Jötun King taken off guard. The way he blinked at her, and almost, almost looked sheepish before scowling again.

“I refuse to trust you for far less ridiculous reasons.”

Sif leaned her arms on the table top, its frosty surface cold enough to penetrate the layers she wore. “The way I see it, since I am the one here at the behest of _your_ man, and the one being manipulated by your lady friend, it is I who has the greater right to trust issues.”

He grunted, drummed sharp claw-like fingernails on the table once.

“Angrboda twists everything to her own purposes, but she is known for her honesty. She believes that this scheme with save Jötunheim. For the sake of my people, I must trust her.”

“Your mother does not agree.”

“My mother is still grieving the loss of her bonded mate.” He scolded sharply.

She all but hissed, “Surely he knew the risk when he came into Asgard thinking to assassinate the Allfather.”

“Are you so blinded by the golden reflection of your city that you missed the ruin that is ours? That is nothing! Our world is dying—“

“—Yes! I’ve heard this particular argument against the race I was born to.”

Pointed teeth ground together as his jaw flexed, doing interesting things to the lines on his face. Sif frowned and looked away.

“Angrboda claims that your disgraced Prince can do enough to halt the destruction of our world since the Casket of Ancient Winters is lost. Are you willing to help us or not?”

A laugh bubbled up, unbidden. It wasn’t funny. None of this was funny at all.

Helblindi watched her laugh, annoyance written clearly upon his face.

Sif sobered, sucked in a breath, looking half-wild when she bared her teeth at him in a mad grin. Stars and branches, she hoped Heimdall was paying attention. “It already seems that I’m invading my own realm to overthrow its King. What have I to lose by allying with our most notorious enemy?”

Choosing to ignore the rhetorical question, Helblindi took her response for a yes. “I do not have the resources Angrboda has in the Ironwood. I can offer you only a score of fighting men, but they are all experienced warriors.”

“Experienced warriors are good, but are useless if they will not follow my orders.” Which was the most dangerous part of seeking assistance from this realm.

“They will follow your orders.” For someone who had made such an effort to avoid looking at her, he had no issue now, watching her with an indecipherable expression. “Because I will be the one to pass them on.”

“You would take orders from me?” Incredulousness seeped into her voice. “Did you not express your refusal to trust me but a few moments ago?”

Several emotions passed over his face, too quickly for Sif to identify, but in the end he looked less angry than fierce. “I have few options, shieldmaiden, but will do what I must to save my people and my realm.”

 _‘Shieldmaiden’, an improvement from ‘Asgardian’, at least._ “Who could ask more of a King in your position?”

She refused to be bitter, but it was no easy thing, thinking about her home. If— _when_ —she removed the Loki from the throne there was no one to take over. It would be her responsibility to install a new ruler in his place. They would be successful, they had to be, for everyone’s sake.

“You would be surprised.”

Helblindi was still watching her when she flicked her gaze back to him, meeting his eyes.

A breath, two. Sif licked her lips.

His brows pulled together, and she finally remembered what she was going to say, forcefully dropping attention to her gloved hand, curled upon the dark wood before returning it to his face, but carefully avoided his gaze. Whatever it was that drew her in, was best left unexplored. Many a predator attracted prey with pretty lures. For even as a wary ally, he was no friend, and her life contained wreckage enough without handing herself over to desperation.

Back to the subject at hand:

“We are being watched, and I know not the side my brother will choose in this battle. Thus we have little time to prepare, and I will be spending the next few days gathering allies where I can find them. How quickly can you have your warriors ready to go?”

“It will take a day to prepare them for a trip to warmer climates.”Helblindi was obviously familiar with Asgard's gatekeeper, it saved an explanation.

A day wouldn’t be a problem. By then she hoped to have a viable plan worked out as time grew shorter by the moment. “A day.” She agreed.

Sif stood, anxious to get back to her desk. To her maps and drafting papers. The heat in her veins quickened, and she pushed back against the rush of adrenaline. It would serve her ill in the days to come, but would be welcome soon enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Alfheim**

Two fingers pressed into the space between Sif’s eyebrows before sliding upward and over her right eye, pausing at her temple in a weak attempt to soothe the headache that had formed shortly after leaving Jötunheim. She could hear the fight, two or three men arguing over one pointless slight or another. How many of these had she broken up over the last few days? Too Norns damned many.

It was inevitable with the quick swell in numbers, first with the addition of Angrboda’s shamans and Helblindi’s warriors. Then the archers that Idhrenor had promised— _and thank you Erudessa for going to Lyfa Dorei to retrieve them._ Even so, it was frustrating to look at the resources at her fingertips and compare them to Asgard’s forces.

Einarr growled, pushed back from the opposite side of Sif’s desk. “I’ll take care of it.”

A sly smile tugged at the corner of Erudessa’s mouth as she watched him leave, then slanted her eyes back toward Sif.

“Don’t say it.”

“What?!” She laughed. “I was merely going to say: For a man who is determined not to hold the rank of your second, he sure behaves as if he is. Besides, darling, everyone knows that you are missing a vital piece of anatomy to get yourself invited into his bed. Am I really so bad about trying to set you up that you think my every thought is to doing so?”

Sif was certain that needed no verbal response, but the arch of her eyebrows and the tilt of her head was answer enough.

Her smile gentled, the teasing gone from her expression and Sif tensed, expecting another lecture about letting go of things and moving on, but as she had explained enough times already, things were not so simple.

Erudessa surprised her by changing the subject instead. “Have you decided which officer you’re leaving behind?”

“Ronar.” As obvious as the answer had been, she had not come to it easily.

“I would not have expected you to put so much confidence in Freki’s second.”

Sif rolled her shoulder, a half-hearted shrug. “He has given me no cause to question his loyalty. Besides, better he be left here with only the men under his authority. Where he can be easily dealt with should had change his mind, than to find out he’s planning something while in the heat of battle.”

“Yet he is one of the most experienced commanders in your army. It must be difficult to leave him when you might need him.”

“Aye.” Sif sighed. “But who better to ensure that things continue to run here? And should the unexpected happen and Alfheim needs him, I trust that he can handle the assignment.”

Light spilled into the tent as the flap was pushed aside to admit Einarr back inside. Sif looked up at him expectantly.

A shrug. “It was already breaking up when I got there, nothing more than bickering over space.”

“To be expected when so many people are forced to share a tent.” Erudessa mused.

“Indeed.” Which was one big reason Sif was working so hard to prepare quickly.

“What of your friend in Vanaheim?” Einarr returned the conversation to the subject they had earlier left off.

“ _If_ Hogun is still with his village, there is a possibility that I would convince him to assist. He will be just as disturbed as I that Loki sits on Asgard’s throne in Odin’s guise; however, his village would not even exist if not for Asgard’s generosity. They are staunch allies under Asgard’s protection.” She did not mention that he would be just as likely to protest her allying with Jötunheim as he would Loki’s rule.

“I can see why you hesitate.” He said.

Those were not the only reasons, Hogun’s tie of friendship and oath to Volstagg and Fandral would undoubtedly factor in, and she was not looking forward to having her own ties questioned.

Guilt had hooked sharp claws over her ribs which flexed now, setting off fresh flashes of pain that constricted her lungs at the thought of her friends. She had no ability to cut herself off from her realm and her responsibilities the way that Thor had, and, perhaps, a part of herself, deeply buried, resented him for choosing happiness. Perhaps, an even deeper part envied him.

Possibly seeing her friend’s disquiet, Erudessa leaned over the desk. “You second-guess yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

“….No.” She sighed and Einarr arched a white-blond eyebrow at her when she glanced his way. “My oaths to my home realm are bound in blood.”

He nodded. “None of us wishes to see civilian casualties.”

There was more, and even unsaid, all three of them knew the weight of it. _Sometimes sacrifices have to be made._

**Asgard**

Everything was starting to come together, the fine threads in a greater tapestry, and Heimdall could almost see what it would become. Which was never the comfort one might think it was. While he could see what was happening, and how the pieces fit together, he had no future sight see how it would all play out. His decision had to be based upon his own moral compass.

The Allfather’s messenger was coming, not yet close enough for his horse’s hoofbeats to be heard within the observatory, but it wouldn’t be long now.

A decision had to be made, but he was loathe to trust the word of a Jötun witch. Yet as hard as he tried, he could come up with no good reason for her to lie about Odin’s identity.

Heimdall moved toward the intercom that allowed him to communicate with the palace and the two messengers assigned to him. He hesitated, fingers hovered over the device. Hesitated until the ring of hooves against the Rainbow Bridge reached his ears, and he had to choose. He activated the intercom with the brush of his hand.

“Yes, Lord Heimdall.” Was the quick reply.

“Summon Volstagg to me with haste. Tell him to be prepared to travel.”

“Immediately, my Lord.”

The horse outside slowed as it approached the observatory, and he stepped over to the pedestal to push his sword into the slot and activate the Bifrost.

Booted footsteps proceeded the young man as he stepped inside. Barely more than a youth, he loped more than walked, all gangly, too thin limbs. He nodded respectfully to the gatekeeper, expecting that he knew what their King demanded of them.

Heimdall twisted his sword, setting the position of the Bifrost. There wasn’t much he could do to delay the message that would summon Thor back to Asgard, but he could buy a couple hours at the least.

He watched as the messenger vanished, and saw when he arrived outside the apartment building where Thor and Jane shared a home.

They were, of course, not there as they were attending to their daily routines and duties. The both of them, Jane and Thor, currently at Tony Stark’s tower, where they were not yet ready to depart.

**Alfheim**

Helblindi looked out over the makeshift barracks, the carefully lined up tents, and the agricultural fields beyond. It wasn’t much like he had imagined it might be, and now that he had been there a few days, it was hard to remember exactly what he had expected. A stricter environment, certainly; an army made up of grim warriors that bellowed orders at each other. Which happened often enough on the training grounds and while they went about their daily duties, but there was plenty of levity to be found as well. A level of camaraderie that surprised him.

Ardunn had gathered the Jötnar together, explaining the timeline and the roles they had been given to follow when they were deployed into the outskirts of Asgard. Helblindi could hear his friend’s voice as he spoke to them, but he tuned him out.

It had been more than a millennium since he had seem battle, but he could still recall how the snow had turned purple. Blue and red splashed across the ice, unheard splatters, drowned out by the screams and clash of weapons.

He ran his tongue over sharp incisors and shut the memories down quickly. Too much had been lost in that war. All that had been gained was misery and a deeply rooted hate for Asgard. Even though there were few options, it was still uncomfortable to ally with an Æsir.

At least his expectations had so far been exceeded, and if he was perfectly honest, Sif was not nearly as abrasive as he might have wished she was.

“—blini!”

Pulled from his thoughts, Helblindi uncrossed his arms and looked over at Ardunn to find that the others, shaman and warrior alike, had already departed.

“You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

Helblindi grunted noncommittally, but his friend knew him too well.

“You’re going to make me repeat myself.”

“I am not going to _make_ you do anything, you will repeat yourself as is your duty.” Helblindi challenged, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re a pox on Ymir’s balls.” Ardunn retorted, and received bared teeth in response.

Ardunn was both Captain of his personal guard, and his closet friend, the only reason he could get away with the insult.

“I should burn your lines off and have you banished to the wastes.”

Ardunn laughed. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“I’m sure I could figure it out.” He scoffed.

“Don’t be sour, Blin.” Ardunn clasped Helblindi’s shoulder.

The wind changed direction, blowing smoke from the cook-fires toward their tent, and they both wrinkled their noses. Ardunn sneezed.

“I don’t think I will ever get used to the smells here.”

“It’s only temporary. We will help invade Asgard and capture the Odinson. Then we will be home again.” Ardunn assured him, but Helblindi was not so certain. He felt unsettled as if he was missing something important. It was unpleasant. _More_ unpleasant even than the too-warm atmosphere and odd scents.

The answer would come in its time, he knew that well enough. Helblindi sighed. “What of our orders?”

“Lady Sif will begin transporting command groups tomorrow after the midday meal. We are second on the roster as she is counting on the shamans to block our presence from the gatekeeper’s sight.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Then why aren’t we travelling first?”

“You know the answer to that.”

_We are not trusted on our own in the Realm Eternal._ If he wasn't so annoyed, Helblindi might have been amused.

Smoke stung his eyes when the wind gusted, and he turned his back to it. The sudden increase of static in the air pricked against his skin like a warning. A cry went up, incoherent, as several voices called out to one another. He exchanged an uneasy glance with Ardunn, and a moment later a page entered their line of tents. “To arms!”

“Gather the men!” He growled at Ardunn, but his friend was already sprinting away.

The atmosphere was heavy, electric, almost too quiet, and recognition fell upon him just as someone put name to it.

_"The Bifrost!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to everyone who takes the time to comment. You and everyone who had been kind enough to kudos are great. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The Bifrost shot from the sky, cutting the atmosphere with a blade of razor sharp light that set teeth on edge as the air was seemingly sucked away for a fraction of a moment before it crashed to Alfheim’s surface, exploding outward in an artificial gust that blew over the encampment. The very encampment that was a flurry of activity as those who lived there rushed to prepare for an incoming assault, but the few scant seconds that they were given as warning were not nearly enough to have more than a few at arms and ready to stand against any force of Asgard.

“Make a hole!” Sif bellowed, as she weaved through the confusion, instructing anyone in her way that she was coming through. Flanked by Einarr and Erudessa, they headed for the training field as that was the only open space large enough to accommodate the Bifrost. Not that it couldn’t set down elsewhere, but Heimdall would never do that except in an emergency for the safety of those he transported.

Sif had appointed five officers under which she and Einarr divided the warriors. Each officer was given the ability to choose their own lieutenants and split their men into squads that would best suit their command style. Of those squads, there were seventeen, and one of them, numbering between twenty and thirty, would have been watching the perimeter of the encampment. A score of men, appropriately armed, and in full battle dress, against Norns only knew how many the Bifrost carried. Though not even all of them would make it to the training yards before Asgard’s force could attack.

It was that thought that forced Sif to set aside those worries and remind herself that this was just the sort of situation that she’d had in mind when calling exercises, pushing them all to think faster, and respond to any threat. She had to trust her warriors.

A trust she found to be well-laid as she reached the edge of the training field where a good number of those warriors were forming up, moving together, and helping each other to buckle on armor as more filled in behind them. Her heart swelled with pride, but that, sadly, only sharpened her concern for those under her command.

Asgardian custom demanded contact between generals in formal battle before attack, unless warriors had been sent to put an end to an in-process battle, or were attacked first, but while there were rules of engagement expected to be followed, that had been under Odin’s rule. Loki, though he wore the Allfather’s face, had always been willing to overlook those rules should doing so bend a situation to his favor. There was no doubt in her mind that his propensity to do so would not have waned.

Around her, orders were being called, and off to her right a particularly green recruit, not yet armored, and undoubtedly unprepared, was being relocated to a position closer to the rear, but she noticed it only peripherally. What had her attention was her name.

Whoever had arrived was asking for her, and the men around her were relaying that call back. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on the perspective—despite being impressed by the number of men who had made it to the line so quickly, it was still a relatively small percentage of her total force, allowing her to reach the front of the ranks quickly. Where she realized that they were not being faced with an attack, but a single visitor. Relief flooded her veins, mixing unpleasantly with the adrenaline, which left her slightly light headed.

 _Volstagg_. Rotund though he might be, his size did nothing to mitigate his skill. He was a mighty warrior, but a better man. Her friend, and the last person she expected to see standing alone in the middle of their training field.

“Lady Sif!” He called, as brightly as he ever greeted her, but the way his eyes roved the warriors who lined up behind her, pinched at the corners, was proof that he was not foolish enough to believe that he was safe simply because they were friends.

Erudessa stepped up beside Sif first, a dagger in her hand, pulled from wherever she had concealed it upon her body, hidden by the sleek material of her dress. How that woman could be so fleet of foot while dressed as she was, Sif would never know. Einarr followed a moment later, similarly armed, but dressed for training, rather than court.

“You are alone?” There was no way to know for sure whether his answer would be entirely true, Heimdall could send warriors down at any time, but she felt she knew him well enough to be able to tell if he was lying.

“Aye, but time is short. We must speak.”

Sif nodded, and turned to Einarr, raising her hand, finger extended as she twisted her wrist in a circular motion. “Finish getting everyone formed up and armed.” She dropped her hand, and her voice, looking over at Erudessa who had moved to stand next to him. “Then send Tharbadon’s best around to the treeline. If anyone else comes through the Bifrost, they’ll be most vulnerable from the rear.”

Tharbadon didn’t have the technical command experience Ronar did, but his skills were more specialized, as were the men under his lead. When someone came seeking warriors who would blend in or remain unseen, it was to him she took the commission.

“It will be done.” Einarr said, and Erudessa inclined her head in agreement.

Satisfied with that, Sif strode out onto the field to meet Volstagg, too aware that she, like so many others, was not appropriately armored for battle. She heard him exhale a sigh.

“You look good, my friend.” His smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“We can dispense with the pleasantries, truly. There will be time for such things in the future, I hope?”

“Aye.” Volstagg grimaced as a gust of wind cut through the trees sending the still-green leaves to shivering. “Your brother sent me to warn you. If you wish to attack, you are out of time unless you rally now.” Which was when he hesitated. “…Sif. Heimdall told me about Loki, but I don’t understand why you are doing things this way. If you had called for Thor’s aid—“

“I didn’t leave Asgard with this in mind.” Sif cut him off. “You who would call me friend, should know that. I’ll not waste time in explaining my reasons, but I will say that I have them.”

“He should know about his brother.”

“And he will. But not until Loki is secured.”

Volstagg rubbed a hand over his beard. “Thor is on his way back to Asgard. Odin--Loki sent a messenger for him, which is why you must move now. Heimdall can deny him passage, but only with good reason.”

“Good reason to shut down the Bifrost.” Sif intoned. “Like an attack on the city.” Which made everything more difficult and complicated her initial plans. “Alright.” She breathed, and switched gears. “Einarr! Officers! To me!”

The call went out, her orders passed along for those who might not have been able to hear, and she turned back to Volstagg. “Will you stand with us?”

He shook his head. “This is madness. You’ve allied with Frost Giants, Sif, and I have a family to protect from all of it.”

“And yet if Thor—“ There was no point in finishing that statement, and Sif punctuated that point by turning to watch for her those she was waiting on.

“It’s not like that.” She could hear the sigh in his words, which only served to irritate her further.

“Isn’t it? Were I Thor, you would think nothing of standing beside me, but you’ll not trust that I have Asgard’s best interests in mind.”

“For good reason!” Volstagg suddenly boomed beside her, gripping her shoulder in one meaty hand as he turned to face her. “You’ve not been yourself since Thor left Asgard, and after Odin sent you to retrieve Lorelei, you withdrew further. Fandral was worried about you well before you up and left the realm, and even—“

Sif jerked away from him. “You obviously believed Heimdall when he told you that Loki had usurped the throne in the guise of the Allfather, you called him by that name. So can you not believe that I do this _only_ to see him removed, and to assist those who need my help? I have no interest in harming my own realm.”

That would be the end of the conversation as she didn’t wait for a response before moving to close some of the distance between herself and the approaching officers. She took a mental roll call, identifying each of them as they arrived, and once Erudessa and the six men she waited on from her camp were joined by one Ljósálfar archer, and two Jötnar, she wasted no time in getting things kicked off.

Explaining everyone’s job wasn’t all that difficult, since most of them had stayed the same, but what had changed, required that she relinquish more control than she was comfortable with. Unfortunately, there wasn’t all that much to be done about it on this short timeline.

Relinquishing Banebryter to Erudessa was perhaps the hardest part, but she was familiar with the lands surrounding the city, and of everyone who might have that knowledge, Sif trusted her friend greatest to ensure that everyone was put into proper position. It was a quick trip back to her tent for her glaive and armor. While those who would accompany her via Bifrost with Volstagg similarly prepared.

The time she had used to do so had apparently taken longer than it had for Erudessa to change as she was standing now, dressed in armor while warriors were already filing through the portal she had opened with Sif’s sword. The gateway was only large enough for a few to go through at a time. A process that was not exactly quick, but would hopefully not take too long to trip up the plan.

Erudessa looked up at Sif when she saw her, smiling widely, and Sif offered her a crooked smile in return while sending out a silent request to the Norns that they have luck on their side.

Having apparently been the slowest at getting ready, she found Volstagg speaking softly with Einarr, the latter’s brows pulled together in contemplation. It was with those two that she’d planned to travel, but a third stood a short distance away, arms crossed over his chest, and noticeably taller even than Volstagg. Sif narrowed her eyes at him. Dark hair and brown eyes, but the angles of his features, and the way he was scowling…

“Helblindi.” One of the shamans under his command must have cast the illusion. It was her turn to scowl. “I suppose you’ve left your men in Ardunn’s hands?”

“Disapprove all you like, Lady Sif, but I have a personal stake in ensuring that Loki is captured alive.”

Not willing to dignify that with a response, she headed for the marks burned into the grass which identified where the Bifrost had hit the first time.

“Lady Sif.” Volstagg’s voice was softer than usual, something that usually happened only when he was going to impart advice. She sighed and looked back at him, closing the distance between them with ground eating strides.

Sif arched an eyebrow, and he spoke, “I will handle disabling the shields over the Eastern Gate, but then I must go to my family and ensure they stay clear.”

She exhaled a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you, my friend. I could ask nothing more than that.”

From there, the foursome moved into position, and without need of anyone calling for him to do so, Heimdall picked them up, taking them away from the encampment and into the Observatory at the southernmost point of the Realm Eternal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of grief, which is why it's taken so long to get out. I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with the result, but it's time to get on with it, so here we are.  
> Thanks again to all of you who are sticking with me here. I love you all.


	11. Chapter 11

“Welcome home, Lady Sif.”

“You choose a strange time to jest, brother.” From the corner of Sif’s eye she could see Helblindi’s gaze move between her and Heimdall. Though brief, Sif’s amusement at his surprise was strong enough to tug a smirk onto her lips.

“I never jest about such things.” Heimdall disengaged his sword from the pedestal, and stepped toward them. “I have warned no one of your arrival.” From his hip he produced a set of cuffs, and when Sif closed her fingers around the rune-carved steel, she could feel the spells which imbued them. “You will need these.”

“Thank you.” It seemed inadequate. She felt a great deal of gratitude, but now was not the time to try and express its depths.

The gatekeeper did not smile, but his golden eyes softened a bit. “Thor has yet to request transport, and with you here, I will deny him until you have Loki in custody, or I’ve decided the losses are too great.”

Sif nodded in understanding. “Already you have given me more assistance than I could have hoped.”

“Court is concluding. I suggest you hurry if you wish to catch Loki before he retires to the Allfather’s rooms.”

Volstagg squeezed Sif’s shoulder, his hand lingering there until he had strode past her, intent on performing the task he had taken on. A good luck or an apology, she didn’t know, but chose to take it as both so she could push any lingering negativity from their confrontation away entirely.

Einarr turned to eye Helblindi who was anything but inconspicuous. “Neither one of us is known here.”

“Which is why you are both going to stay close,” Sif interjected, “No one will question me for being here, but you will attract attention.”

Helblindi grunted in reply, and Sif grit her teeth. In disguise or not, she was still bringing a Jötun into the palace; the very same crime she condemned Loki for. The irony was not lost on her.

“Come, we’ve a hike before us.” There was no time to waste on lamentation or concern. The path had been chosen and now there was no choice except to see where it would lead.

~

Court had become the bane of Loki’s existence. The endless procession of dull nobles and their lists of pointless problems. Norns below, if he had to hear about such mundane problems, just what sort of useless complaints were the nobles themselves forced to deal with?

Any curiosity he might have felt for that inquiry was fleeting at best, and rather than pursue it he looked out over the remaining line with Odin’s one pale eye. The day’s court was nearly done, and even though there were only a handful left to speak with him, as soon as Thor arrived, they would all be ushered out anyway.

Thor whom he had expected to have arrived by now. In his annoyance, he had to resist the urge to bare his teeth at the man who stepped up to the base of the dais and bent knee to the one assumed to be the Allfather.

“Rise, citizen,” Loki intoned with Odin's voice, “and tell me of your grievance.” A messenger rushed through the door, and Loki raised his hand to silence the peasant’s reply.

“Finally,” he growled. “Has Thor arrived at the Observatory?”

“No, Allfather.” He bowed low. “The Lady Sif has returned.”

He leaned forward, his eye focusing on the messenger with a sudden sharpened interest. “That is… unexpected. Does she arrive with word of her intentions?”

The messenger straightened but kept his eyes lowered. “Heimdall warns that she wishes to speak with you, Allfather.”

It was curious timing, and that alone made him suspicious, but how could she have known he’d sent for Thor?

Loki looked down at the man who had been waiting to speak with him, then to the Einherjar that stood guard. “Close court. I would speak with the Lady Sif without an audience.”

There were a few hushed complaints, and a protest or two, but none was pursued. Odin was a respected and feared king, and Loki enjoyed wielding his power.

“She is not alone, Allfather.” The messenger added.

“No? Hmmm…” Something was telling Loki that this wasn’t right, and as a man with a strong sense of self-preservation, he had learned to listen to those feelings. “Who accompanies her?”

The throne room fell abruptly quiet when the last of Asgard’s citizens filed out the door.

“Two men, I know not who they are.”

A deliberate omission of Heimdall’s or simply unimportant? Loki dismissed him with the wave of his hand.

He tapped his lips with an index finger, considered his options.

~

Sif was home.

Stepping out of the Observatory and onto the Rainbow Bridge was akin to wrapping herself up in a warm fur and settling in front of the fireplace. Surrounded by comfort and familiarity. Her heart sang, and her soul cried.

The trek to the palace was not a difficult one. Quite the opposite, the terrain offered no challenge, and the views were spectacular, affording the trio the sight of Asgard’s capitol laid out before them in golden splendor. It reflected the sun’s rays which was brilliant contrast to the fading sky overhead. Bright blue over the land, washing out to pale, the outlines of nearby planets and galaxies becoming more visible the closer one came to the Observatory behind them as the blackness of space intruded, darkened it all again.

Had the situation been different, Sif would have enjoyed pointing out landmarks to Einarr and Helblindi; watched their expression as they took in her home. She loved Asgard with every fiber of her being, but never had she been given the opportunity to share it in such a way. For a moment she bemoaned that she could not take the time to do so, but their purpose had nothing to do with sight-seeing, or introductions. Still, she allowed herself to enjoy the way they took in the scenery. Neither one of them had any particular affection for her home, but none could behold her world without feeling the slightest bit awed.

To her relief, no one questioned them, not that she had expected anyone to have discerned what she was there to do, but the situation, and the internal need for at least some stealth, reminded her of times long lost when she would hurry along the very same corridors, dress torn, hair disheveled, just hoping to get home and changed before her mother could discover what she’d been up to.

Passing by a particular pillar that had played part in many memories, both good and bad, they approached the pair of guards who flanked the heavy doors to the throne room. The nearest of them nodded to Sif in friendly recognition, but his eyes hardened as they swept over the other two. “I must announce your companions.”

“Certainly. You may tell Allfather Odin,” Norns, it was difficult to bite off that title, “that I come with two of my most trusted lieutenants.” Half a lie, for one of them was exactly that, and his name would raise no flags, the other however was King of an enemy realm, “Einarr, and,” Helblindi, Hel? Blindi? She didn’t have time to try and figure this out, and was a terrible liar, “Bli-n.”

Sif could feel Helblindi’s eyes on her but she didn’t look back at him. The guard pushed the door open for them and as they stepped through. He called to Odin, “Allfather, the Lady Sif and her companions Einarr and Blin here to see you.”

As she had done innumerable times before, Sif went to stand in front of the throne and saluted. For though she had left the realm, she had not abandoned her citizenship. That was no easier than naming the traitor who sat there by Odin’s title, but it was far safer to give Loki no cause for suspicion. “Allfather,” she greeted.

He leaned forward in the throne far enough to look as if he was supporting himself with Gungnir, a truly formidable weapon that was, perhaps, their greatest obstacle. “We can cut through the expected pleasantries, Lady Sif. We both know that you would not be here unless you had something to ask of me, so let us hear of it.”

Her gaze flicked around the room, to the two guards who stood to either side of him at the bottom of the stairs. Normally there would be two more positioned beside the throne, ready to block anything that might be thrown or shot at their king, but they had been absent since Thor abdicated the throne. A clue that Odin was not all that he seemed, but one that she had previously missed.

There were two as well outside, the ones they had already passed by, and at the first sound of trouble, they would come running. Four guards and Loki against two skilled warriors and a king whose fighting ability was entirely unknown. Sif was no more thrilled by the odds now than she was when she had hastily put this plan together.

Odin’s brows rose impatiently at the delay in her response, and Sif knew that there was no point in trying to be coy about the situation. “I’m sure you can figure out why I might be here, _Loki._ ”

She had expected him to react violently, and had prepared, fingers closing automatically on the grip of her glaive, but it was an apparent overreaction as he did nothing except watch her, his head cocked to the side curiously. “I believe I should be offended,” he said.

The guard at Odin’s left moved first, stepped into a position to better protect his King as he raised his weapon, and Sif made the mistake of letting her attention wander away from the other guard for the fraction of a moment it took to look at him.

“ _Sif_!” Einarr called out in warning as he whipped a dagger at Odin, hoping to get Loki to reveal himself to the guards who would protect him.

Heeding the warning, Sif dropped, crouched low just in time to avoid a blast from Gungnir. It sizzled overhead, made her scalp prickle, and she looked up just in time to see Einarr’s dagger dissipate Loki’s illusion of Odin.

Helblindi roared at her left, exuded an icy chill that she felt straight to her bones, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the guard who was clearly Loki. Helblindi chucked an ice spear at the trickster, and Loki fell back, green flickering around him as he shielded himself. His disguise wavered like a reflection on the surface of a lake, then fell away to reveal himself.

Forgetting about the second guard would be a mistake, and Sif looked over to where he’d last been, only to find him gone. Einarr as if reading her mind, nodded to her. He’d gotten rid of it.

Loki had clearly been warned that she was coming.

The scent of the trickster’s seidr was heavy in the air as he raised his father’s weapon and pointed it at her again. He sneered, “You brought a _Frost Giant_ into Asgard? Why, Lady Sif, your sense of honor astounds me.”

Her fingers had just closed on her shield when she was hit from the side. All the air in her lungs whooshed out as she and the one who knocked her away hit the marble floor.

Gungnir’s second blast had missed just as surely as the first, but unlike the first time, Loki now had the upper hand with two of his adversaries sprawled out on the floor.

Or so he thought.

“What did you— _Ahh_!” Whatever Loki was about to say was cut off by his cry of pain when another of Einarr’s knives hit its mark.

Loki spun toward Einarr, and Sif shoved Helblindi out of her way as he was trying to get up himself, and launched herself up off the floor to tackle the trickster. Catching sight of her from the corner of his eye, he moved to swing the weapon at her like a bat, but she was already too close. Gungnir flew from his hands as she hit him with every bit of her weight, and they both went down. He was prepared, though, and moved to flip her off of him, sending her sliding across the marble, and away from him.

Unfortunately for Loki, he was immediately set upon by Einarr and Helblindi while Sif pulled herself back up again, and stalked over with the cuffs in hand.

“Come to carry out your promise, have you?” Loki laughed bitterly, and Helblindi tightened the grip he had placed on his wrists, his skin cold enough to turn the trickster’s hands blue.

Not willing to get herself burned by the Frost Giant’s touch, she offered him the cuffs to do the honors himself, only now noticing the pounding on the door as the Einherjar on the other side tried to get through.

Loki hissed at the discomfort, “You should know that I didn’t betray him. Thor abdicated his right to the throne all on his own.” He raised his head higher off the floor, trying to meet Sif’s eyes. “What does it say about you that he would trade your loyalty for the company of _mortals_?” The final word was a gasp as the cuffs were closed around his wrists, cutting off his magic.

Suddenly Einherjar were spilling into the throne room like water surging through cracks in the bow of a ship, weapons drawn, ready to attack.

Helblindi yanked Loki to his feet, and Sif stepped into a defensive stance.

It was almost comical—might have been to an outsider looking on, when every last one of the guards stumbled to a stop, confused by what they were seeing.

“Where is the Allfather?!”

Sif looked back at Loki, surprised to see that the hands that closed over his shoulders, and the face that easily watched the guards from over his head were no longer blue, but again disguised. She met Helblindi’s eyes briefly, then turned back to the Einherjar. “Loki has been sitting in the Allfather’s place since Thor’s abdication.”

An odd, uncomfortable silence fell over the group as they looked at one another, none of them sure what any of this meant or how to proceed, and before they could decide, or Sif could assert herself as an authority over them, Fandral raced into the throne room.

“Allfather!” He called out, “There is an army gathering outside Asgard! Jötnar!” He straightened, out of breath, and finally took in the scene, finding himself as bewildered as the palace guards.

“It’s _my_ army, Fandral. The Allfather is missing, and the one responsible is in my custody. Asgard is now under my control.”

Loki laughed as if he had never heard so great a punchline on any jest.

Fandral shifted uncomfortably and looked at the men around him, many of whom were staring at Loki.

Sif, however, ignored him in his madness, “I would rather this be done with no casualties. Can I count on you?”

“Lady Sif—“

Hearing his uncertainty, she turned away from her friend. Her boots rang against the floor and echoed off the high ceilings of the throne room as she strode over to where Gungnir had fallen. Sif lifted it, turned to face men she had always considered allies. “Can I count on you?” She asked again, more emphatically.

After a pause, the highest ranking of the guards took a knee, and the others followed. “Aye, my Lady. We are yours to command.”

Satisfied, she looked to Fandral who grinned at her despite the worry that lingered in his eyes. “It’s good to have you back.”

Sif returned his smile, a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders in knowing that she had the full support of at least one of her friends.

Addressing the guards, she gestured for them to rise. “Spread the word that Asgard is now under Martial Law, and if Týr would like to question my authority, he is welcome to try.”

Fandral gave her a pained look, interrupting before the Einherjar could respond, “Týr went missing shortly after you left Asgard, my Lady. We’ve been searching for him, but it’s believed he is dead.”

“Of course he has,” she replied with a sigh. It made sense that Loki would have been eliminating those who were most likely to notice that Odin had changed in ways that even grief would not have caused.

“All of this was almost worth seeing you now. How easy it has been to deceive you all.” Loki’s smile was all teeth, and Sif looked past him, refusing to acknowledge him at all, which was when she saw the two bodies shoved into the corner of the room, previously hidden by Loki’s spells.

Sif commanded the Einherjar, “My army will be coming through the Eastern Gates, clear the way, but one of you should first see to the bodies of your men.”

Fandral and Loki glared at each other from across the room until Fandral looked away. “I will accompany them to the gates.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He winked at her as he departed.

While one of the guards went to the discarded bodies, Sif lay Gungnir down on the steps leading up to the throne, then moved toward a seemingly random spot in the middle of the floor, “Over here.” she said to Einarr and Helblindi, gesturing for them to bring Loki. There was a slight depression along the edge of one of the floor tiles that allowed her to work her fingertips under it and pry it up, revealing a length of chain. “It’s for trials, mostly, but will keep him secure for now.”

“Listen to the great warrior woman of Asgard, a Lady beyond reproach. The greatest hypocrite of them all.” Loki crowed while Einarr secured the chain to his cuffs. “Do you really know who leads you, elf?”

Einarr scoffed, “I know well enough.”

Sif’s eyes bored into Loki, but he was loving it, and she knew he was baiting her. Helblindi and Einarr followed her a few feet away when she finally turned her back on him. There was much yet to do and no time to rest on this accomplishment.

Unwilling to accept that he was now being ignored, Loki strolled forward, as far as his tether allowed. “You have one legacy, Sif. Have you not yet come to realize it? Everything you love will die, everything you try to protect will be yanked from your grasp.” He was altogether too satisfied when she looked up at him. Loki was always good at digging into the weaknesses of others, and he knew her far too well. “Has anyone you’ve loved stuck around long enough to ever love you in return?” He chuckled, “Ah, I almost forgot. The answer to that would be yes.”

Sif knew what would come next. It was the product of her longest recurring nightmares, a memory, a mistake, so much she would change if only she could. He was trying to upset her, she shouldn’t allow it, but he knew exactly which button to push to get what he wanted. It felt like a much longer stretch of time, but the pause was only long enough for Loki to draw another breath.

“Of course, you killed that one yourself.” The chain rattled, and he breathed a soft sound of amusement, “I must ask: how was it? Watching your lover die on your blade?”

Anger and centuries of suppressed grief, so recently pulled to the surface by Lorelei, flooded her veins, filled her lungs, and like any fuel, the spark that had been lit, set it aflame. Sif sprang, but her feet never hit the floor. She was lifted bodily, crushed against Helblindi’s chest, stilling her though the anger still burned.

“I need him _alive_.” He growled in her ear.

He was right. Jötunheim needed Loki even if she had no faith at all that he would help them.

“Put me down.” Her jaw flexed as her boots met the floor, and she headed for the door, knowing that the only way to ensure that Loki kept breathing was for her to get as far away from him as reasonably possible until she got control of herself.

She didn’t see the expression that flickered across Helblindi’s features as he watched her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how patient you all have been, that there's still some of you waiting for more chapters. You crazy people, I love you so much for still being here. I absolutely intend for future chapters to come much more quickly than every nine months.
> 
> Also, writing fight scenes is hard. Hopefully capturing Loki wasn't too incredibly anti-climatic.


	12. Chapter 12

Erudessa had always felt as if she was running to keep up with Frigga. Even as a girl Frigga had been bright and smart and beautiful. She excelled at every new skill she attempted, and Erudessa adored her. She adored her the day they were introduced, two gangly adolescents with the potential to become Valkyrie, and even today, standing before another remarkable woman’s army, even though Frigga had now passed on to a place she could not follow, the love she felt would not die.

The day Frigga was chosen from the group of hopeful Valkyrie recruits, when she had realized they weren’t meant to be together, neither this life nor the next, her grief had been terrible, and her wrath unwarranted, but spewed like deadly poison upon any who dared come close to her until Freya had braved her rancor. She pulled the Alfár girl tight against her breast, let her rail and scream. Not because she had been overlooked, but because a piece of her heart would leave without her.

She had been so young, staring at a closed door, and feeling as if she was facing the end, but Freya held her tight, promised it wasn’t the end, but the beginning.

Looking now over the force that had formed up behind her, Erudessa could breathe. The oaths she herself had traded were fulfilled.

She raised Sif’s sword high into the air as she addressed men and women come together from all reaches of Yggdrasil. Jötnar, and Alfár, Dwarves, displaced Vanir, and homeless crossbreeds. Erudessa swept the sword down in an arc. “We march!”

~

Thor looked to the empty sky, still a smoggy blue above a polluted city and frowned. Twice he had called to Heimdall, and twice he had received no response. Concern parched his mouth, brought unpleasant memories to the forefront of his mind. The last time his call had gone unanswered Loki had been granted the throne where madness took root in his soul.

When he had left Asgard, his father had been…. But why would he summon him, then turn around and deny him entry?

It made no sense.

Jane reached for his hand, twined her fingers with his.

He looked down at her, concern in eyes much brighter than the washed out sky above. “Perhaps you should stay here.”

“Not gonna happen. The last time you went without me, we were separated for years. No. I’m coming.”

“Jane—“

The look she gave him cut off further argument. He knew that look. He’d grown up with it, first seen on his mother, and then Sif. Gudrun’s face when Volstagg did something she disapproved of. That was an expression that brooked no argument for there was no way a man could win.

He squeezed her hand, more to bring himself comfort than to pass it on to her.

“Heimdall!” A breeze, thick with the scent of car exhaust and garbage, mixed with the crisp scent of fall leaves. The more natural smells almost buried beneath the rest. Thor wrinkled his nose; though he had been assured that eventually he wouldn’t notice the reek of the city, it had yet to come to pass.

Worry for his father, the friends he had left behind was eclipsed when he considered the danger he was potentially bringing Jane into. Her breakable state, the difference in their lifespans was a flame held to his skin. Harmless now, but with enough time, the damage would be deep.

He started to speak again, to implore her one more time, but clouds gathered, swirled above, and Thor breathed, pulled Jane close as they were carried across Yggdrasil’s branches to the observatory.

Feet back on solid ground, he prepared to shove Jane behind him should there be need to fight, but as his vision cleared, he saw only Heimdall.

“I apologize for the delay, but it simply wasn’t the time to be opening the Bifrost.”

It was such a bizarre greeting, Thor found himself looking closely at the Gatekeeper. “What is that supposed to mean? My father summoned me here.”

“Not your father. Your brother.” Heimdall’s golden eyes softened with apology, though Thor was oblivious in his shock.

“M—my brother?”

“Loki is dead, we both saw him die,” Jane protested, fitting herself to Thor’s side.

“You saw what Loki wished you to see.” The Gatekeeper straightened. “You may enter the city, but be aware that we are under Martial Law. Lady Sif stands as Asgard’s ruler.”

~

The palace was in chaos with Einherjar rushing about, sending pages on their way into the streets and across the treed wilderness to the villages beyond the city to spread the word, and the servants watched and listened, spread their own messages, lips to ear.

Erudessa brought Sif’s army to a stop behind her once they reached the eastern gates, wary, ready to fight if necessary. Indeed it looked as if it would be necessary the way Asgard’s archers had lined the walls, guards four deep blocking entrance though the gates themselves were thrown wide open.

It had always been a possibility that Sif wouldn’t be able to work fast enough to prevent any bloodshed between Asgard’s forces and those she brought to back her. Just as the possibility had remained that she might fail to capture Loki entirely. Yet whether Lady Sif even lived, Erudessa had to move forward. Promises were made. Yggdrasil had to be protected.

An eerie silence fell, the quiet before the storm broken only by the shift of armor, a nervous cough, the creak of leather.

Until a voice rose up from the other side of the gate.

“Let me through!”

Almost as one, helmed heads turned toward the source, splitting down the center to admit a single man who came, slightly out of breath, and raised his head. Shaggy blond hair fell into his face which he swiped aside, pasting a wide smile onto his lips before he turned to address the guards he had just pushed his way through.

“Odin no longer sits upon the throne, and Martial Law has been enacted under Lady Sif’s command. You are to stand down, let them enter, and close the gates tight. Asgard is on lockdown!”

Glances were exchanged, many nervous, and a few of the archers’ hushed murmurs carried on the wind, but they were all well trained to follow orders, and within a few moments, the path was clear.

“I’m Fandral. Follow me, and I will take you to the palace.”

~

“Thor!” Despite herself, the situation, and Loki’s hateful voice still ringing in her ears, Sif couldn’t control the joy that rose up in her breast. No matter how disappointed she was in his choices, he was too important to her. Joy that was squashed as flat as the first shoots of spring grass underfoot.

He turned to her with lightning in his eyes, advancing as if she were a foe. “Do not dare address me as a friend!”

His voice boomed, echoed, reverberated in her chest, and Lady Sif, the woman who would stand fearless before any foe no matter their stature or reputation, was struck mute. Confusion, shock, hurt, they warred for dominance upon her face as inwardly she scrabbled for some sort of foothold when it felt as if her entire world was crumbling beneath her.

“Is this to be my legacy?! For everyone I once cared for to covet my birthright?!”

She wouldn’t crack, she wouldn’t fall, even when she could feel that tiny place inside her where she had buried away a very specific kind of hope blackened. She had known it for some time now. Known it, but refused to truly accept it; her friend had forsaken them— _her_.

The anger was easy then, born of emotions she had bottled up, buried away just below the surface, pawed now from fertile earth.

There was no storm in her gaze, she’d been given no gift to control the lightning, but she was war, a goddess of a different kind. One of death and destruction boiling under a skin of compassion. A power far too often forgotten by those who knew her best, and invisible to those who knew her not at all. The light in her eyes was sunlight on steel, sharp and deadly as she straightened, stepped in to meet his challenge.

“What birthright is that, Son of Odin? The one you denied?”

“Hey! Guys!” Until Jane spoke, Sif had barely registered her presence, and even now, knowing the tiny mortal stood at Thor’s left flank. “How about we talk this out?”

Sif granted the woman no more than a brief glance; Thor, however, clenched his jaw and took a step back, and if she had been less angry, might not have been so disgusted by how easily the mortal pulled him into check.

At any other time she might have allowed herself to be happy for him, but not now. Not when he would call her traitor simply because she did what had to be done. Not when he would immediately expect the worst of her without taking the time to hear her reasons.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Sif said. “Asgard’s legitimate King is gone, I’ve pulled the usurper from the throne. Asgard is mine. If you dispute it, raise that Norns-damned hammer of yours and take it from me, accept the role you should have taken when it was freely offered. Otherwise, get out of my sight. Asgard is under curfew and the only place you are welcome is in the confines of your rooms.”

For one moment, one drawn out breath, she thought he might actually do it, but it was as much a false hope as any other she had allowed herself to hold.

The tempest in his eyes faded, and the mighty prince she had once loved heart and soul seemed so much smaller now. “You brought Jötnar into Asgard, Sif. I would see Jane home before we discuss this.”

“You should go with her,” and “I’m not leaving you!” Were spoken simultaneously, and Sif smirked entirely without mirth.

“Go home, Thor. We all know where your priorities lie.” She didn’t wait to see how Thor would respond to the remarks, she didn’t trust herself, found that she trusted him even less. Even knowing the shape of his temper as intimately as she did, she was no longer willing to place herself in a position to be disappointed by him.

 _Is this to be my legacy?! For everyone I once cared about to covet my birthright?! Thor’s accusation rang in her head, ‘ _everyone I_ once _cared about__ ,’ once. She didn’t see the hurt in his expression when reason caught up to his temper, she didn’t see him slump. Sif had already turned away from him, and while her departure was angled, allowing her to see if he attacked, she wasn’t watching.

Thor exhaled her name, shifted as if he would follow, but Jane pulled him back, shook her head at him when he sought her eyes. “Let her go. You don’t need to fight with her right now.”

“I’m not—“ He sighed, hugged Jane to his side. “You’re right. She’s spoiling for a fight, and I’m just fool enough to give it to her.”

“You have every right to be angry. At her. Everyone here.” Jane looked around as if fearing she would be overheard, “This place is like poison.”

Whether he agreed or not, Thor did not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my work is unbeta'd.

The staff vibrated in her hands as it struck the training dummy which rocked violently with the hit even as it was struck again from another direction. Sif’s attention wasn’t on the reaction of the dummy, however, but focused inward. Every movement she made was precise, razor sharp. Accuracy of technique was meant to drown out all other thought or concerns.

It was working.

Mostly.

At least as long as she didn’t pause. Which was when memories intruded, mixed up emotions that she was going to have to figure out how to bottle up before she could go back to the palace.

There wasn’t time for her to be this Norns-damned weak!

Sif screamed in frustration and spun away from the dummy, the staff swinging a wider arc until it was suddenly intercepted in a blur of movement by another staff. She startled, snarled at the surprise, anger covering up shame for having missed the presence of another on the field.

She straightened, glared at him, “Helblindi.”

“Spar with me.”

More than anything Sif wanted to be left alone, and if she were to have chosen anyone to follow her out there, it certainly wouldn’t have been him. She looked up into eerie dark eyes that barely seemed to conceal their true color.

“You wish to spar with me,” she stated incredulously.

“Do you believe princes of Jötunheim are spared from battle?” He disengaged the staff in his hands from hers and stepped back.

“I know how Jötnar fight, and it is not with weapons of wood and steel.” Sif quickly regained her equilibrium, spun the staff idly.

“So I’ll improvise.” He shrugged.

How long had he been watching her? The idea that she had been completely unaware of his presence while being unguarded, her weaknesses on full display appalled her. She struck, and he blocked. Blocked again when she twisted and brought the staff to bear upon him again in rapid succession, nothing but the sound of wood on wood, the occasional harsh breath, to echo across the field.

Helblindi remained on the defensive, blocking her attacks one by one as she tried to get under his staff. So it was more than a little surprising when he suddenly shoved back, made his own attack.

She sidestepped, blocked, but only barely.

“It’s making you slow.” He pointed out as their staffs came together again at chest height.

Sif scowled at him, “What is?” She dropped low and swiped hard, hoping to catch his ankles, but he danced away.

“Everything you’ve buried instead of facing.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Sif found great satisfaction in the look of shock that followed when she suddenly attacked with intent. He defended himself as best he could, but she kept advancing, kept stealing ground, eyes alight with rage. She rapped his leg making him stumble, and took full advantage, swinging hard at his neck, only barely stopping the staff before it connected.

He froze, chest heaving with exertion.

“Who is the slow one now?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, lowered his chin. “Something is broken if you have to call on rage to drown out everything else. It will burn you up from the inside.”

Sif snorted in disgust, removed the staff from his neck and threw it at him. “You know nothing about me.” But his statement had struck a nerve, rang of a truth she knew, but couldn’t face.  
He batted the staff away and dropped his own to the torn grass at his feet. “You are not the mystery you believe you are. One needs only open their eyes and look to see what you would rather not.”

Something akin to fear knotted in her gut. She gnashed her teeth against it. “Oh, do enlighten me.”

The staffs clanked together when Helblindi swept them aside with his foot so he could take a step closer to where Sif now stood. “You surround yourself with people who love you. Those who cannot help but follow you, and yet, you lean on none of them. Your prince wounds you, and rather than seek one of your many friends, you come out here alone. You hold everyone at arm's-length while you take everything that weighs on you and bury it inside. Do not deny that I’m close to the truth. What does suffering alone do for you?”

She swallowed, tried to bring moisture back to her parched mouth, tried not to look as thrown as she felt. “I haven’t the luxury to fall apart. Too many people are depending on me right now.”

Helblindi shook his head, something in his expression that she was too upset to identify. “Too many people are depending on you for you not to expel your hurts.” He reached for her arm, but let his hand fall as soon as she shifted away. “The lives of my men are in your hands. My entire realm hangs in the balance, and I know more intimately than most the cost of a leader who has turned to anger to drown out all else.” He extended his hand to her, “Allowing yourself to grieve won’t fix anything, but it will give you clearer perspective.”

Sif eyed his hand, “What happens when I fall to pieces and haven’t the ability to put myself back together?” So simple a question felt like a baring of her soul, and wasn’t it? To allow someone she barely knew to see one of her greatest fears?  
A small, inexplicably gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips when she took his hand. “You’ll not fall at all as I will be here to hold you up.”

~

Thor watched Jane explore his rooms. _His_ rooms. Funny how they didn’t feel like his anymore. Everything about Asgard seemed distant. He hoped it was just because he was still reeling from everything that had been dropped on him. Which led him to remember Sif and the utter betrayal he had seen in her eyes. Guilt clawed at his throat.

Jane brushed her fingers delicately over some runes and symbols carved into a pillar next to the small table that sat in the corner of the room, ready for a platter of food to be brought for them to share there. “And I thought the guest room I had been given was pretty swanky.”

He cleared his throat, “The perks of being a prince.”

Jane’s smile turned serious as she made her way back toward him. “What does all of this mean for you?” Then to clarify, “Sif taking over like this.”

“I already gave up my right of succession.” He sighed, looked around the sitting room that had been his ever since he was old enough to leave the nursery in the royal suite. He felt…. Numb. “I suppose that if she wished to, she could reclaim these rooms, assign me something in the Warrior’s Wing, or banish me entirely.” Lady Sif wouldn’t, though. Of that he was sure. As quick to temper as she could be, she was possibly the most loyal of his friends. He would speak with her, gain access to Loki, and put all of this behind them.

She dropped down onto the chaise and tipped her head back to look at the decorative ceiling. Yggdrasil and all its branches stretched out from corner to corner. “You didn’t handle things very well... but neither did she.”

Thor dropped his face into his hands at the change of subject, scrubbed his fingers through his beard. “If anyone knows my temper, it is Lady Sif.”

“Mmhm,” Jane hummed, “But she’s your friend too, right?” Lifting her head, she looked right at him, even though her expression was unsure. “I mean, if I were her, and you said some of those things to me—“

“Never!” He interrupted, pulling her into his arms before dropping into the seat she had previously occupied, “I would never turn my ire on you, Jane.”

She sighed, “….I know, I think. But Sif probably thought the same, right? I saw the look on her face.”

“You were the one who stopped me from going after her.” He pointed out, guilt returning with a vengeance.

“Yeah, well, all I’ve been doing since then is thinking.” Jane slipped off his lap. “All I’m saying is that maybe you need to think about things because this isn’t exactly the right time for you two to break up, you know? And even if she’s always been someone you could lean on, people get tired of not being able to lean back.” Jane’s eyes clouded, “I’ve learned that the hard way.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, remembering exactly what he said to her. He had renounced their friendship. To make a point! Yet maybe it was a poor point to make. Thor scrubbed his hands over his face. He was getting really tired of reflecting back on the ways he had hurt people important to him. Thinking about the state of his friendship with his oldest companion was uncomfortable.  
“If she’s hurting, she’ll be in the training yard.” Thor said and leaned over to kiss Jane.

~

It was every bit as bad as Sif had feared it would be, spiraling down into that black pit. It was terrifying, suffocating, and as soon as she had opened the lid on that dark place, she wanted to recoil, slam it closed again. In that breathless moment, it had crossed her mind how this could have been Helblindi’s scheme, to attack when she was most vulnerable, but, most frightening of all, she couldn’t have cared less. He could have cut her heart out and she would have welcomed it.

“Breathe with me.”

Such a simple request, but it was far from a simple task as she gasped for air between sobs. Slowly, however, with his giant hands buried in her loose, tangled hair, she began to feel more grounded. The vague sense of him became more pronounced again, fingers against the back of her neck, his forehead pressed to hers and the way her chest filled her armor when she drew breath.

No longer feeling as if she was starving for air, her tears began to dry on her cheeks, but Sif suppressed the desire to rub them away.

She couldn’t see him with her eyes closed, but could almost feel him smiling, or maybe she was just hoping he was because, inexplicably, she could feel herself starting to smile, not with mirth, but relief.

“It would seem I’m interrupting.”

Sif would have jumped back if Helblindi hadn’t been holding her so securely. As it was she startled at the familiar voice, and Helblindi’s answering growl. He dropped his hands and Sif stepped back, wiping the remaining moisture from her cheeks.

“Odin’s son.”

Thor’s eyes flicked from Sif to Helblindi and back again. “Are you going to introduce me to your... _friend_ , Lady Sif?”

“We are not _friends_.” Indeed, the Jötun who had just seen a side of her that only the dead had been privy to was replaced with the gruff creature Sif had come to expect him to be.

Thor’s gaze remained on Sif, “Not friends, then, but clearly something.”

To prevent the incorrect conjecturing from going any further, “Thor, I would introduce you to King Helblindi of Jötunheim.” Her mind still felt foggy from crying. Her eyes itched, and though her heart felt lighter, it still ached. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep, but it would be hours yet before she could rest.

“Laufey’s son!” The slightly wary tone of Thor’s voice was gone. “The servants spoke of Frost Giants in Asgard, but this… Is he the one who convinced you this was a good idea?!”

“In case you’ve _forgotten_ , Thor, you gave away your right to decide what was best for Asgard when you left. You decided that Midgard was more important than your realm of birth despite its condition, and you were more than happy to forget that Jötunheim existed at all no matter how much damage it sustained in your brother’s attack.” She glowered at him, “Why are you even here?”

His scowl lessened, but the crease between his brows remained. “I came to apologize to you.”

“A fine job you’re doing of it too. You aren’t even supposed to be out of your rooms.”

“Who would question me, Sif?” He glanced at Helblindi who was watching them both intently, and her gaze followed.

As far as Sif was concerned, the Jötun seemed to see far too much, and yet his insight had proven to be something to be thankful for. Perhaps later she would be able to sort through her feelings over the whole ordeal, but she certainly didn’t need her mind to wander that way right now.

“I would expect you to respect the curfew.” She turned back to Thor.

“At what cost? I cannot leave things as they are.”

“Angrboda will be here soon to collect Loki.” Helblindi interrupted.

Thor tensed, his expression darkening, “You are giving Loki to Jötunheim?”

“He must pay for his crimes—“

“Sif, you send him to his death!”

From the corner of her eye, Sif saw Helblindi stiffen.

She raked her fingers into her hair, pulling them through tangles, and reached for a tie. “If death is what he finds, it is because he asks for it. I don’t have the time, nor the inclination to try making you understand.”

Thor looked over at Helblindi who remained silent, but watched him as if he expected an attack. His lips pressed into a firm hard line before turning back to Sif as she tied her hair up into a ponytail. “Have a drink with me. When your duties are concluded?”

An ironic smirk played at Sif’s lips in memory of a similar request she had made not all that long ago, and a spiteful part of her wanted to give him a similar answer to the one he had provided. She stomped hard on the desire, refusing to give in to it. “I cannot say when that will be, but I will come to your rooms to speak. I expect you will be there.” It wasn’t a question.

“Aye, I’ll be there.” His eyes fell on Helblindi again, his expression hard to read, but not at all friendly, and the Jötun King bared his teeth in an unpleasant sort of smile in response.

Sif watched Thor depart until he slipped through the doorway and out of sight inside the palace. Then jerked her chin in the same direction. “I suppose we should go wait for Angrboda.” It was probably a good idea to address what Helblindi had done for her, yet Sif wasn’t really sure how to go about it. Their dynamic had changed, perhaps subtly, but it was enough to make her hyper-aware of him.

He, however, seemed unaffected.

Helblindi nodded, moving to head inside. “The Wolf-Mother does not like to be kept waiting.”


End file.
